


Sleight of Hand

by omphalos, Wolfling



Series: Of Old Mystics [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Drugs, Epic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, Schmoop, Urban Fantasy, wild youth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-04
Updated: 2010-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 21:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 80,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphalos/pseuds/omphalos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfling/pseuds/Wolfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles, Ethan and their allies find themselves fighting a war on two fronts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Of Old Mystics was originally published regularly between May 2003 - March 2005. The story begins some months after the end of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, season 7. Sleight of Hand is the third volume of the epic saga.

"Good God, look at them all. There should be a clean-cut young bit of thing somewhere singing about linden trees and how tomorrow belongs to her."

Ethan was looking around the small hall full of Slayers in something close to amazement. The girls were in the middle of a synchronised martial arts routine. He'd somehow failed to see the gathered ranks together before now, and it was... impressive, almost frightening.

Rupert stood beside him, watching the girls with a faint smile on his face. "We're not raising an army to conquer the world," he replied, recognising the reference. "Save it every once in a while, perhaps, but the Council's bureaucracy is more than enough for me. Can you imagine the amount of paperwork involved in running the world?"

"If you ran the world, dearheart, you'd have lots of little grey men and women to do the paperwork for you. Hmm, much as you do now." Ethan grinned cheekily at his husband, a title it highly amused him to apply to Rupert since their exchange of rings. "And yet you still bring home reams of the stuff every night."

"You let the, as you call them, little grey men and women do all the paperwork, and pretty soon, you're relying on them for information, instead of having your own contacts and making your own decisions on what is important. Lord knows, I never wanted this job, but if I'm going to run the Council, then that's what I'm going to do."

"Very admirable, I'm sure." As Ethan had a strong tendency to ignore even the small amount of paperwork that his much lesser position in the Council carried with it, he was already fed up with the return of the daily briefcase of dead tree that Rupert chose to wade through every evening. And they'd only been back from Devon a short time.

Ethan caught sight of Megan amongst the thirty or so exercising Slayers in the hall and gave her a little wave. She gave him an exasperated and slightly pained look in return that really couldn't have expressed the sentiment of 'not now, I'm working' more clearly. He sighed. "I'm being an embarrassing parent."

Rupert shot him an amused, affectionate glance. "There's worse things to be."

Ethan snorted quietly. "I suppose I'm not allowed to touch you up in here, am I?"

Another glance. "What do you think?"

Ethan sidled a step closer, smirking. "It could be a tonic for the troops, a reward for all their hard work."

"Touching me up is a reward for them?" Rupert asked, laughter under the words.

"Our two seem to enjoy it." Ethan was standing very close now, although not touching.

"It doesn't exactly project the proper image," Rupert said. However, while he was speaking, Rupert's hand slid to the small of Ethan's back then lower.

Ethan felt the smirk on his face turn to something more intense, and he stared at Rupert, breathing slowly and deeply. That Rupert would dare to do this in here... Well, it showed how far they'd both come.

Rupert gave a small mischievous smile while his hand squeezed. "Not proper at all," he said, turning back to watch the girls, but leaving his hand in place.

Two could play at that game. Surreptitiously, Ethan moved his hand up behind Rupert, sliding it under the casual jacket to rest on the small of Rupert's back, stroking lightly. Then, as he was close enough to do so, Ethan leant towards Rupert's ear as if he wanted to say something private, but instead blew softly up Rupert's neck.

He felt Rupert shiver ever so slightly, but a moment later he stiffened and stepped away from Ethan, staring across the room toward the far entrance. Ethan looked around to see a vaguely familiar man coming into the hall. He wasn't sure why he couldn't put a name, or at least a place, to the stranger. He would have thought the eye patch, if nothing else, would have stuck in his memory.

The man looked around, spotted him and Rupert – or more likely just Rupert - and waved before starting to make his way around the edge of the room towards them.

Ethan glanced at the Council head. "Expecting company?"

"I wasn't," Rupert said, his eyes on the man coming their way, "but it seems I have it." Rupert smiled as the man got within speaking distance, moving forward to meet him. "Xander, this is a surprise," he greeted, holding out a hand which the other man took and then pulling him into a brief half-embrace.

Xander - that name rang a bell. Ah, one of the Sunnydale children... only he very much wasn't a child anymore. Well, that explained the lightning-quick removal of hands then. Ethan stuffed his own hands into his pockets and smiled insincerely at the newcomer.

"Yeah, well, I was supposed to submit a complete overview of the search for North American Slayers. Figured I could finagle a free trip to the land of Gileses out of it, see this side of the operation." Xander grinned at Rupert then glanced at Ethan, the smile fading. "I see they're letting anyone in, huh?"

"Apparently so," Ethan snarked in kind, looking the large young man up and down pointedly. He made sure he was standing inside what would generally be considered Rupert's personal space.

Rupert cleared his throat, somehow making the sound weary and resigned. "Ethan, you remember Xander Harris. Xander's been tracking down and identifying Slayers for us in the US. He found Kat and Megan both and convinced their parents to let them come here." He gave Xander a smile of pride then glanced at Ethan, the warning 'play nice' as clear in his eyes as if he'd actually said the words. "And Xander, I know you remember Ethan Rayne, although you may find he's changed considerably. He's working for the Council now, and he's my... partner."

Ethan's smile immediately became a lot more genuine, although it was more in reaction to Rupert's words than to anything the young American had done. "Hello, Xander. So I have you to thank for our Slayer pair. Well done." He couldn't keep the smirk from his tone for all that his gratitude was real.

"Uh, yeah," Xander replied, looking at Ethan with a cross between puzzlement and wariness. "Thanks." He turned his gaze back to Rupert. "Partner? Does that mean... partner?"

Ethan said nothing, but if he happened to raise his left hand at that moment, and happened to rub his fingers over his lips in such a way that really drew attention to the gold ring on his wedding finger, no one could prove it was deliberate, could they?

"That means exactly what you think it means," Rupert replied then lifted one eyebrow and asked sardonically, "Do you really want me to go into details?"

"No!" Xander answered urgently, voice rising in pitch on the word. "No, that's fine. No details necessary. Or demonstrations, and I didn't just think about demonstrations. Or what would be a demonstration. I'm not thinking about..." Xander winced. "Okay, I just thought, and it wasn't pretty."

"Well, that's... insulting," Ethan said with a wry smile and a raised eyebrow.

"Ethan," Rupert chided mildly.

Considering all the things Ethan had restrained himself from saying in response to effectively being called ugly, it was a bit much to be told off for what he had uttered. He frowned at Rupert. "I'll just leave you two to it, shall I?"

Rupert reached out and grabbed Ethan's hand, tugging him to his side when he tried to walk off. "Stay," he bade softly. "You can pout at me later."

The firm grip on his hand was enough to soothe Ethan's ruffled feathers, for now at least, so he did what he was told. He could feel that the pout was making a premature appearance, however, so he changed it to his completely false bright smile once again. "Nice flight?" he asked Xander.

Xander was looking at them both, but mostly Rupert, like he wanted to stare but wasn't quite able to bring himself to actually do it. He blinked and focused on Ethan. "What? Oh. Yeah, I guess. Uneventful anyway, which is always of the good."

Before anyone could talk further, there was a shrill squeal of "Xander!" from behind Ethan, and Kat appeared, virtually throwing herself on the one-eyed man. She was closely followed by several other girls, who all seemed delighted to see the American. Ethan felt his bad mood getting worse by the second.

Rupert squeezed his hand and tugged slightly, bringing Ethan's attention back to him. "You're not in competition, love," he said for Ethan's ears only.

Ethan smiled back weakly. It was nice that Rupert understood what was wrong - and indeed that there _was_ something wrong - without being told. And to make things better still, Megan appeared at Ethan's other side, slipping her hand into his free one as if she'd sensed he was upset. He looked between the two of them gratefully. He felt... bolstered.

Xander seemed completely at ease, happily chatting with the gathered Slayers surrounding him, managing to actually keep up with a bunch of teenage girls' chatter on excited, fast-forward mode. He seemed to remember all of their names, or at least hadn't seemed to hesitate over any of them so far.

Ethan smiled at Megan. "It's all right, dear," he assured her. "You can say hello to him too." He squeezed her hand.

"I don't mind waiting," she replied. "Anyway, he probably doesn't remember me."

Tutting, Ethan pulled his hands from both grips in order to give Megan a loose hug. He whispered in her ear, "No one, having met you, will forget you, my sweet. Now the only person allowed to be insecure here is me, so you just behave and remember what I told you on the Eye."

When he straightened up and let her go, he found Xander staring at them both. Ethan didn't like the look on the man's face and had to bite back a sarcastic comment about his own gender preferences.

Xander, however, had composed his expression by the time Megan looked in his direction, giving the girl a smile. "Hey, Megan," he said, proving he did indeed remember her. "Don't I get a welcome hug from you?"

Megan, bless her, actually looked to Ethan for permission, which he gave via an encouraging smile. As she went to hug Pirate Pete, Ethan turned to Rupert and gave his husband a beseeching look. What, precisely, he was asking for, he didn't know himself.

"Come on." Rupert tugged on his hand, leading him away from the crowd and out into the hallways, which they followed to Rupert's office.

Ethan didn't say a word as they walked, already feeling guilty for causing Rupert to leave the young man, his friend, alone with the Slayers. Not that Xander seemed at all unhappy with their company. However, the guilt was nowhere near enough to overwhelm the grateful relief Ethan felt at being away from that scene, so silent he remained.

As they walked through Rupert's outer office, Ethan smiled warmly at Pamela, who he'd been making his very best attempts to befriend since returning from Devon, having finally realised what a good ally she could be. She stood up, obviously wanting to catch Rupert's attention.

"Yes, I know, Pamela," Rupert said. "Mr. Harris is here."

"Ah," she smiled a little guiltily. "I was going to call and warn you that he was on his way, sir, but Ms Travers has been here demanding certain files. Things became rather distracting for a while."

Rupert made a face. "I'll have another talk with Francesca. Later. But if you can give Ethan and me a few minutes now without interruption, Pamela, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course, sir." She sat back down.

Once the door was closed behind them, Rupert leaned against it, looking affectionately at Ethan. "Go ahead," he said drily. "Get it out of your system."

Ethan put his hands over his face and peered at Rupert through parted fingers, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Dropping his hands, he sighed. "Sunnydale..." he said a little helplessly.

Rupert took the two steps it needed to close the distance between them and wrapped his arms around him. "It doesn't change anything, you know."

Nuzzling the side of his face against Rupert's, Ethan shut his eyes and breathed in the presence of his husband. "I do know. Really, I do. It's just..."

"Facing the past?" Rupert guessed.

"In a way. I... Oh, it's just that godawful little town. It became a symbol of everything that lay between us."

Rupert was quiet for a moment then offered, "It's my time in Sunnydale, with Buffy, Xander, and the others, that put me on the path back to you. It put me on the path back to myself."

Ethan could see the truth in that, and it helped to consider it. At least it did here in this nice safe office in which they were alone. The fact of their aloneness made him wonder if he could steal a few moments of a more physical kind of reassurance, and he moved his mouth to Rupert's for a needy kiss.

Rupert returned it and even added the bare ghost of his magic to the touch, more than they had allowed themselves to do on the premises before this. So Ethan released some of his magic in turn, groaning softly into the kiss. He'd had no idea of quite how much he'd required this intimacy until it had started. Under the touch of Rupert's lips, Rupert's power, all the angst and insecurity seemed to dissolve away, replaced with comfort and... desire.

Pressing close to his lover, his husband, Ethan knotted one hand in the hair at the back of Rupert's head, moving the other down to fondle his arse. Rupert growled, turning them so he could push Ethan back against the door, not breaking the kiss or the flow of power between them.

Ethan could feel himself rapidly growing rock hard and breathless. He was whimpering into Rupert's mouth and pushing against his body. He couldn't quite believe they were doing this here, in the heartland of everything orderly and respectable. The surge of - pride, passion, gratitude? - any number of emotions that filled him when he realised that, yes, they were, was almost enough to make him come where he stood.

"God, Ripper," he groaned against Rupert's lips.

Rupert ground his hips against him, devouring Ethan's mouth feverishly. "Don't have much time," he muttered.

"Enough. Time enough. Please. God, please..." Ethan was filled with an urgency so insistent it made him helpless. He half-hung from Rupert, letting the other man control every action and responding with writhing or moans to every touch. "Need you, Ripper..."

Rupert kissed him harder, and Ethan felt a hand deftly undoing the fastenings on his trousers. Ethan's own hands were not so deft as they tried to return the favour, out of control lust making him clumsy.

Rupert chuckled into Ethan's mouth as his hand slid into Ethan's opened trousers and closed around his cock.

Gasping, finally dragging his head back from hungry lips, Ethan gave up his struggle to open Rupert's fly and just squeezed and rubbed the erection through the cloth. Rupert's magic was travelling through his fingers into Ethan, whose head was spinning with need. "Dearheart..." he pleaded.

"Love you," Rupert murmured, before nuzzling into Ethan's neck, his fingers tightening around Ethan's cock, the stream of magic growing just that much more powerful. Ethan whimpered, thrusting into Rupert's hand and squeezing Rupert's cock firmly if without rhythm, making Rupert groan, the sound muffled against Ethan's neck.

"Please," Ethan begged. "Oh... please. I need..."

Rupert's fingers sped up in their movements on Ethan's cock and began to vary the amount of magic, showing fine control in sending pulses down through where their skin touched. Ethan tensed and gasped, his groin muscles tightening and the sensations rising inexorably inside him.

"Rupert, I'm going to... Oh...."

If anything, Rupert's response was to up the intensity all the more.

With a long, drawn out wail, muted against Rupert's skin, Ethan came into Rupert's tight fist. He collapsed against him, shuddering and panting. Rupert just held him as he recovered, murmuring words that Ethan couldn't quite make out in a soothing tone under his breath.

"God," Ethan breathed. "I love you so." He kissed Rupert with many soft touches of his lips all over the other man's face and neck and then gracefully dropped to his knees. This time his fingers had no trouble with Rupert's belt and fly, and he drew out Rupert's needy erection. Licking around the tip, Ethan looked up and said throatily, "Use me, dearheart. Take what you need."

Rupert's breath had caught at the first touch. He was watching Ethan with eyes that had wonder in them and reached down to caress his cheek. "Love you," he said in a voice husky with arousal. Then he tangled his fingers in Ethan's hair and began fucking his mouth in earnest.

It had been quite a while since they'd done precisely this, but it was something Ethan loved. It gave him a breath-taking thrill, akin to speeding in a car or certain fairground rides, to have Rupert holding his head rigid while the thick cock plunged in and out of his throat. He groaned encouragingly around his mouthful, pacing his inhalations and maintaining both suction and a supply of tingling magic. His hands grasped Rupertr's pistoning hips, and his eyes never looked away from Rupert's face.

Rupert was watching him in turn, but his eyes drifted shut as he got close, all of his attention so obviously focusing inward as his climax rushed down on him. Ethan wrapped his arms around Rupert's arse as the man shuddered and pulsed within Ethan's mouth.

Rupert's knees seemed to wobble, and he threw out a hand against the door to steady himself. Opening his eyes, he looked down at Ethan, emotions clear in his gaze. Letting the spent cock go from his lips, Ethan smiled contentedly up at him. "That was a good deal more than pleasant, my dear. Thank you."

A ghost of a smile turned the corners of Rupert's mouth upwards. "It seemed the most... efficient way of calming you down," he teased, holding out a hand to help pull Ethan to his feet.

Wincing only slightly at his damn knees, Ethan stood and wrapped his arms around Rupert, kissing him lightly and letting him taste himself. "I can't believe we just had sex in the heartland of the Council of Watchers. Do you feel as deliciously naughty as I do?"

"Actually, it's not the first time I've had a... dalliance in this building," Rupert admitted, leaning in for another brief kiss. "Although, granted, not in this office..."

"And presumably before this building became the headquarters." Ethan pouted. "I thought you were meant to be bolstering my confidence? Who was this possible slut of indeterminate gender?"

"Jealous?" Rupert asked.

"Of course."

"You have no reason to be, you realise." Rupert lifted his left hand and entwined it with Ethan's left hand, their two rings catching the light. "Of any past... shag partners, or anyone else."

Ethan bent his head to kiss the two rings. "To death?" he asked quietly as he straightened up.

"Beyond, if we can manage it."

***

A little while later, Ethan emerged from Giles' private bathroom, smoothing his hair back. "There now. No one will ever know what we've been doing in here. On our own. For so long. Under instructions of no interruptions." He smirked over at Giles.

"No one will know unless they have eyes and get a look at you," Giles countered, unable to keep himself from smiling at Ethan. "Cats dripping in cream don't look as smug as you do right now."

Ethan grinned more broadly and prowled over to Giles. "I'm proud of you, my dear. Proud of myself because you're mine. It's hard to hide it, and I really don't know if I want to."

Giles didn't think there'd ever be a time he'd get tired of seeing that kind of smile on Ethan's face, completely and totally happy with just a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. It was still a fairly new expression, one that had been gracing Ethan's face only since that night on the cliff. Sappy as it sounded, Giles felt like he fell in love all over again whenever he saw it.

He allowed himself the indulgence of pulling Ethan close enough to kiss him, but moved back before they could get distracted again. "Pride is fine," he said, resuming the conversation after the kiss. "But you might want to tone down the 'just fucked' look a little."

"How would you advise I–" Ethan stopped talking as the intercom buzzed, the noise a rude interruption in the comfortable and intimate atmosphere they'd created between them in the office.

Giving Ethan an apologetic smile, Giles moved over to his desk and keyed the intercom. "Yes, Pamela?"

"I'm sorry, sir." The machine gave Pamela's voice a nasal quality. "I waited as long as I could. It's just he's been out here for so long now..."

Xander. Giles glanced at Ethan, judging his mood before finally telling Pamela, "That's all right. You can let him come in."

"I'll be good," Ethan promised, stepping back from Giles.

"Don't strain yourself," Giles teased. He expected some friction at least in the upcoming conversation. He knew that, barring a miracle, Ethan and Xander were bound to snipe at each other. Not that Giles would be upset if such a miracle did occur, but he wasn't holding his breath.

Xander came in and grinned at Giles. "Wait until I'm distracted by the horde of hyper Slayers and sneak away. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to avoid me."

"He had an urgent matter to attend to," Ethan said with a smug grin that didn't in any way seem tempered. "Any blame is mine."

"Now that I can believe," Xander replied, glancing at Ethan, who laughed.

"It's warming to know someone somewhere still believes in my depravity. Thank you, Xander. Truly. Did the fair Pamela offer you a drink?"

"Yeah, she did, and half her lunch if I wanted it." He looked back at Giles. "You sure she's not a demon? Because I'm almost sure she was flirting with me."

Giles lifted an eyebrow. "Almost?"

"Well, she was being very British about it."

Giles wasn't quite sure how one could be very British while flirting, but refused to dwell on it. He'd long ago learn not to put too much energy into figuring out Xander's brain. It just gave him a headache. "As far as I know, she's human," he answered.

"To err is human, after all," Ethan said, deadpan.

Xander didn't look in Ethan's direction, apparently deciding to ignore him. "Maybe I should ask her to show me around London."

"Don't let any of the Slayers hear you say that," Giles advised, also judging it best to not encourage Ethan's sniping. "You'll have twenty offers of tours." He smiled at the younger man. "You've made quite an impression on them. There's always quite a bit of 'Xander said this' and 'Xander did that' when they first arrive."

Apparently remembering his promise to be good, albeit belatedly, Ethan smiled and said mildly, "Pamela has shown good taste in the past. You should feel suitably complimented."

"Maybe," Xander replied, acknowledging Ethan's presence once again. "Or maybe she was just trying to distract me from thinking about whatever you two were doing in here. Which, let me now state for the record, I was not thinking about. At all. Ever."

"I'd be happy to clarify for you," Ethan offered with a smirk. He looked Xander up and down. "Demonstrate even." Clearly, the good behaviour had lasted for exactly one comment.

"No, you won't," Giles said mildly, hopefully nipping that particular line of teasing in the bud. There were going to be no demonstrations, either for Xander or on Xander.

"Oh, apparently I won't," Ethan said drily. "Sorry, Xander. Do try not to be too disappointed."

Before Xander could answer, which was probably a good thing judging by the expression on his face, two things happened at once - the intercom buzzed urgently, and the door opened. The latter revealed the instantly aggravating figure of Francesca Travers together with one of her toadying followers.

"Mr Giles, you have been avoiding me," she accused, storming over to him.

"I wasn't aware we had an appointment," Giles responded in his most professional and cool tones.

"I have been assured that your assistant told you I wanted to see you. Are you claiming that she lied?"

"I'm claiming that you didn't have an appointment, Francesca. Did you make one with Pamela?"

"You don't require anyone else to make appointments, Mr Giles. This is a policy you use only to block me. Did this American need to book a time in your apparently empty schedule?" She gestured carelessly at Xander. "I strongly doubt it."

"Uh, actually," Xander spoke up, "I called Pamela before I left the States and had her work me into Giles' schedule." Which was the first Giles had heard of this, but he didn't let his surprise show.

"Rupert's schedule being rather... tight and hard to get into," Ethan added. From his expression, it was hard for Giles to tell if Ethan had meant the innuendo or not.

Francesca clearly felt Ethan had as the look she gave him now was full of disgust and/or hatred. "Please, do not bother yourself to address me. It's not as if you can have anything pertinent to say. You are as much a true Watcher as I am a repulsive old homosexual sorcerer."

"Less of the 'old', Frannie," Ethan answered immediately, smiling one of those completely false grins of his.

"Speaking as someone who's worked with a Slayer or two for the last seven years," Xander began, his voice oh so casual, "and who's met and dealt with more than one 'true' Watcher, it's the people with actual field experience who do the best at the job. Ethan's got that at least, and how many vampires have _you_ killed, Ms Travers?"

Her eyes flashed with anger, and she answered Xander with a voice that almost crackled the air with frost. "A true Watcher, one who had received the requisite training, would understand that we have the Slayers to kill vampires, Mr..." Giles didn't believe for an instant that she'd really forgotten Xander's surname, but she continued on as if she had. "Not, of course, that someone like you could ever hope to get through the degree course at Oxford."

Ethan turned to Xander and explained to him in a voice dripping with fake sympathy, "Poor Francesca was denied field experience by her father. He didn't think she was good enough to be a Watcher, despite her excellent academic qualifications. Aren't some fathers bastards?" He tutted, his mouth forming a moue as he looked back at Francesca, who seemed about ready to attack Ethan physically.

"Was there something you wanted, Francesca?" Giles asked, distracting her from the impending violence.

"I have no intention of discussing important Council business in front of this man," Francesca asserted, waving insultingly at Ethan. "What you choose to tell him is your failing, but I will not contribute to the dissemination of Council secrets to evil riffraff."

Ethan sniggered loudly. "Oh, nice. I must add that to my resume."

Giles was fast losing patience with the woman. "Fine. Then you can talk with Pamela about making an appointment to discuss... whatever it is you want to discuss in private. Good afternoon, Francesca."

Francesca's face hardened further, and she seemed about to rant some more before the lackey at her side patted nervously on her sleeve to gain her attention then whispered in her ear.

When she looked up at Giles again, she smiled. "I do hope, for your sake, Mr Giles, that you remember your responsibilities before it's too late for you. I'm not worried for the Council, of course. No true Watcher will ever let you destroy our great institution with your... misguided egalitarianism and hormonally charged nepotism." She turned and headed for the door. "Good afternoon."

"Gentlemen and gentlemen, there goes a prime example of a woman who ate a dictionary and is painfully regurgitating it word by word," Xander said, gesturing at the closed door after Francesca had disappeared through it.

"I think you'll find the dictionary entered her body through a different orifice," Ethan said drily, smiling at Xander. "Which would nicely explain the pinched expression she tends to wear."

Xander winced at the image. "That's _gotta_ hurt." He grinned back at Ethan then glanced at Giles. "You ever thought of assigning her to Buffy for a month or so? She'd put Ms Dictionary-where-the-sun-don't-shine in her place fast enough."

"The thought had crossed my mind," Giles admitted, glancing at the door himself. "But Buffy hasn't done anything lately to deserve such a fate."

"Unlike myself," Ethan commented dryly. "I'm clearly working through a lot of my karma shortfall by having the unexcellent Frannie riding my back like a deranged jockey, convinced I'm public enemy number one."

"All right, that image would be enough to strike me blind in my other eye," Xander complained, shuddering theatrically.

"Best not to think about it then, I imagine," Ethan chuckled. "One eye-patch has a certain style, two would be overdoing it a tad. Of course, you might find it had its advantages." He turned and kissed Giles sensually on the lips.

"Oh, holy Gandalf the Grey!" Xander exclaimed, sounding dismayed. "You are so not wrong."


	2. Chapter 2

"So what dubious establishments are you thinking of visiting with our pseudo-daughters?" Ethan asked Xander, his eyebrow raised inquisitively.

Xander was taking Megan and Kat out for a night on the town, or they were taking him; it wasn't clear which. Ethan and Rupert also intended an evening out, possibly of a somewhat romantic nature, by themselves. But first, all five of them had gathered for a spot of light dinner at Rupert's Council townhouse, which Ethan presumed he'd have to start thinking of as his own also.

The plates from said dinner were currently being washed up by Kat and Rupert in the kitchen. In the living room, Ethan was enjoying a glass of wine with Xander, who would probably have preferred beer, but Ethan hadn't offered. Mainly because he wasn't sure how well the American lad would handle his and Rupert's specialist bitters and ales.

Megan was wisely sticking with fresh apple juice.

Xander cleared his throat before answering. "Well, after some fun games of 'let's try to fool the poor out-of-towner' into taking us to–" He began to count things off on his fingers. "One, gay clubs. Two, a lesbian strip joint. Three, a very adult, and oh yes, _gay_ play. We finally came to a mutual agreement regarding the latest Jude Law movie. Which, come to think of it, is probably a nice English costume drama all about two young men who happen to like each other a teensy bit too much."

Megan, who Ethan knew had come out to Xander earlier in the day, emitted a noise that even Ethan had to admit sounded like a repressed giggle, and Xander smacked his hands over his face.

"We're just trying to further our education," Megan said with wide-eyed innocence.

"Megan, be kind to the nice heterosexual," Ethan told her. "He can't help what he is." Xander opened his mouth to say something and then shut it again, and Ethan took pity on him. "Cheer up, mate. I'm still the minority in this room, not you."

"How'd you figure that one out?" Xander asked, obviously perplexed.

Ethan smiled at him. "I'm the only one who likes men?"

Xander nodded slowly. "I see. You're presuming a lot there, Eeth."

Ethan cringed at the abbreviation of his name. "Why do you say that, _Xan_?"

"Maybe I'm... y'know. Like Giles. Apparently. And may I say, there was no sign of that _ever_ in Sunnydale. Well, except for when you were around. Possibly."

Rolling his eyes, Ethan replied drily. "If you can't even say 'bisexual', forgive me if I doubt that you are one."

"I could be," Xander insisted.

"Megan?" Ethan asked without taking his eyes from the young man. "Would you be a love and pass Xander the book Ian gave me for my birthday?" Megan giggled and then quickly schooled her expression back into something innocent again as she reached for the book and handed it over.

Xander opened the book, seeming cautious. Ethan watched the man's eyes widen at the first picture he looked at. "Mmm-mm," Xander said as if he liked what he saw, but his body posture and the tension in his face said otherwise to Ethan. "Naked butted goodness suitable for every coffee table."

"Try page 32," Ethan suggested. He'd picked the number at random, but that didn't matter.

Xander started turning with obvious reluctance to the page, but Rupert came in from the kitchen just then, took one look at what was occurring and cleared his throat. Loudly. Xander gave a guilty start and quickly put the book down.

Rupert smiled a little smugly. "It's nice to see the old reflexes are still there."

Xander laughed. "Was I always that obvious? No, don't answer. I think I want to remain happily ensconced in denial land for that and, gotta say, so many other things currently."

"Considering the number of times I had to pretend not to hear or see things regarding your sex life, you can look at it as just retribution," Giles replied with a faint smile, moving to sit beside Ethan on the couch. Xander's answering smile seemed a little sad, and Ethan made a mental note to ask Rupert about the man's history later on.

Kat came bounding in, wiping her hands dry on her jeans, and as there wasn't a spare comfy chair left, she perched on the arm of Xander's, and not, Ethan noticed, Megan's. He decided he was going to have a quick word with the girl before she went out tonight.

"Well, this is nice," he said, smiling around at everyone. "Very wholesome. All we need now are marshmallows and songs around the campfire."

Xander perked up at that. "I see you've got the old guitar on display there, Giles. Is that how you've been keeping all the girls in line? With your magic oestrogen-inducing tonsils?"

Kat and Megan exchanged looks then as one looked at Giles. "You sing?" Kat asked, watching him avidly.

Rupert seemed taken aback. "Well, I..."

"He doesn't just sing, my dears," Ethan assured them, standing up and walking over to the far wall. "And it isn't just oestrogen levels that increase upon hearing him." He carefully picked up the guitar and carried it back to Rupert, smirking happily at him. "Time to create some more adoring fans."

Rupert gave him a look, not reaching out to take the proffered guitar. "I don't think–"

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Very well. _I'll_ sing then, shall I?" He sat down on the edge of the sofa and pretended to tune up the guitar.

He'd barely touched the strings before Rupert was taking it from him. "You've many talents, love," Rupert told him. "Singing isn't one of them."

No, but manipulating recalcitrant husbands into doing what Ethan wanted them to do apparently was. He grinned at Rupert, who was busy repairing any imaginary damage Ethan might have caused to the tuning, then addressed the potential audience. "Any requests, girls or boy?"

"Know anything by Nickelback?" Kat asked, which mysterious request prompted Xander to laugh.

"I'm thinking I'm requesting the golden sound of silence," he said cheekily.

"Yeah," Megan said, perking up and taking Xander seriously. "My mom listens to Simon and Garfunkel all the time, and that's one of her favourites."

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" Rupert asked, glancing sideways at Ethan.

Ethan looked back. "Why on earth wouldn't I?" The dirty look Rupert sent him then clearly said that he'd been expecting Ethan to get him out of this and would take suitable revenge later. Ethan snorted and put his hand to his mouth to cover it.

Everyone was watching Rupert intently, the girls leaning forward on the edge of their seats. They all became quiet as they waited for Rupert to start.

Clearly seeing there was no graceful way out, Rupert sighed and plucked a few notes on the guitar before launching into the song, the Sound of Silence.

It was, of course, beautiful. The powerful lyrics of Paul Simon became something haunting and almost frightening when expressed in Rupert's poignant and sensitive tones.

Ethan felt emotions welling up inside him as the song progressed. He moved on the sofa, pulling his legs up and crossing them. He wanted to touch Rupert, but satisfied himself with just a gentle stroke of his socked toes against Rupert's thigh.

At times like this, the love Ethan felt for his husband - which word, in this case, he was using in his thoughts in all seriousness - was overwhelming. He wanted to look around the room and say 'See? And he's mine. All mine.' He didn't as, apart from anything else, he couldn't look away, not while Rupert was still singing.

The song reached the penultimate verse, and Rupert's voice lowered, becoming almost angry, and the chords from the guitar grew off-key and sinister. _"'Fools' said I, 'you do not know silence like a cancer grows. Hear my words that I might teach you. Take my arms that I might reach you.' But my words like silent raindrops fell and echoed in the wells of silence."_

Suddenly, Ethan felt as he had during their last full day in Devon, in the house of Keri, the seer. The room seemed to darken and grow chill, and a shiver ran through Ethan. Without thinking, he raised his hand to cover his mouth as if to stop himself crying out. The song returned to a more comfortable sound for the last verse, and the room felt friendlier by the time the last note died, but Ethan was shaken.

Rupert smiled shyly when he finished, and the girls both clapped enthusiastically. He glanced at Ethan, and his expression immediately grew worried with whatever he saw on Ethan's face.

"What is it?" he asked, putting the guitar aside and reaching out for Ethan.

"Not here," Ethan muttered in Rupert's ear as he accepted the cuddle. "Later, when we're out." He pulled back and gave Rupert what he hoped was a dazzling grin. "You took my breath away, dearheart. That was beautiful." He turned to the girls. "Well, didn't I tell you?"

"It was awesome!" Kat enthused. "You could totally win American Idol. If you were, y'know, American."

"She's right," Megan agreed. "You could be a big star. That was way better than my mom's album."

As Xander hadn't commented, everyone now turned to look at him. "What?" he asked defensively, holding up his hands. "It was, you know, old guy singing. Guitar. Nice, uh, fret work."

"Bisexual, my arse," Ethan muttered under his breath.

"Thank you," Rupert said with a smile, his gaze taking in all of them. "But really it's just a hobby. I have no intention of giving up my day job."

Ethan looked at the clock. "Hmm, I want to freshen up before we leave, so if you'll all excuse me..." He rose to his feet after giving Rupert's leg a little squeeze. After walking to the stairs, he turned and added, "I'm sure you won't get up to any mischief while I'm gone, but perhaps, girls, you might like to entertain Xander with one of my birthday tapes?"

Smirking, he headed up the stairs.

***

Much to Giles' amusement, Ethan's 'birthday porn' quickly chased Xander out of the room, and indeed, the house. Giles found the younger man out in the back garden looking at the stars.

He glanced over and smiled as Giles came out. "I'm trying to figure out how to describe all this to the Buffsome one," he said quietly.

Giles smiled back. "I think I'd like to hear what you come up with."

"So far, I'm not doing so good. Giles..." Xander stopped, looking pained.

"You know you can talk to me about anything," Giles urged gently, having an idea of what turn their conversation was about to take.

The young man shuffled nervously on his feet, but he met Giles' eyes. "Why didn't you tell us? That you were, well... that you like to drink from both sides of the teacup."

Giles put his hands in his trouser pockets and gave a half-shrug. "The subject never came up. It's not like I was even... drinking from the one side of the teacup very much back in Sunnydale. I hadn't turned the cup around in quite a long time."

Xander chuckled at that. "Worthy attempt with my sucksome metaphor there." His chuckle faded into a sigh, and he rubbed under his eye patch. "So... you and Ethan..."

"Yes. Me and Ethan." He glanced at Xander and asked carefully, "Does that bother you?"

"Well, on a wiggage scale from one to ten, I'd say I was pretty much into triple figures here, but, uh, it's not so much the other side of the cup thing. More, well..."

"That it's Ethan."

Xander nodded and turned to face Giles. "I mean, wasn't he the wannabe big-bad who kept turning Sunnydale into his own version of Murderworld? And didn't his little tricks nearly get people killed, nearly get _us_ killed, and more than once? What am I missing here, Giles? Because there's gotta be something I'm not seeing."

"He's changed." It was the truth, but Giles realised that it was a less than convincing argument. "He's given up Chaos worship, which is akin to kicking a heroin habit."

"And so all is forgiven? God, it's like Buffy with Spike all over again." Xander shoved his fingers through his hair. "And yeah, I know, I'm skipping down the yellow hypocrite road here. And it's none of my business. And you guys seem happy. And... arrghh. People are worried about you, Giles."

Giles grimaced. "I know. But..." Hard as it was, he tried to explain his feelings. "This is something I've wanted for longer than I realised until it was standing in front of me. I don't think I could give it up now, even if I wanted to. Yes, all is forgiven, as much as it is for Willow or for myself. You can't pick and choose who you think is deserving of a second chance, Xander."

Xander gave him a very earnest look, almost beseeching. "But we do, don't we? All the time. Otherwise how could we ever get with the slaying? Seems to me, we forgive the people we love and need, and the rest we pile on that handbasket to Hades. And is that so wrong? I really can't tell anymore."

"There has to be the desire to change, the acceptance of a second chance. We 'get with the slaying' when those two conditions don't exist." He paused and then added softly, "And Ethan meets your criteria, at least for me."

"So the rings...?"

Giles pulled his hands from his pockets and looked down at the ring that caught the moonlight on his left hand, not at all surprised that Xander had noticed it. "The rings are a symbol of commitment."

"I had a ring once that I was supposed to wear on that finger. It came - or would have come - with vows. Lifetime vows."

"So does this one." Giles found himself self-consciously running a finger over the ring as he replied. "They may have been spoken privately, but they were spoken."

Xander was quiet for a while after that, returning his gaze to the night sky. "Okay," he said eventually, uncharacteristically terse.

That was probably the best that Giles could hope for, for now. Wholehearted and enthusiastic acceptance would only come with time, if ever.

"So," Giles said, changing the subject. "How are things back in the States?"

Xander looked back at Giles again. "Things seem pretty settled. I'm still the travelling-man, of course, following the leads your seers send me. So I don't get to party down with the others as much as I'd like. Dawn came along with me for a while over the summer break, and that was much of the good. She'll make a great Watcher if she decides on that route."

"Indeed." Giles smiled. "She's shown a remarkable aptitude for languages. Give her a few more years, and she'll read more than I do."

"You're not kidding. She and Andrew keep bugging the others by talking in Klingon when they wanna be, well, cryptic. They're kinda scary together. Buffy worries about what they're getting up to with the big dusty tomes and the habit both of them have for inviting trouble in the front door."

"Well, hopefully not living on a Hellmouth will at least reduce the chances of trouble walking in the front door," Giles said wryly.

"Speaking of which, the Slayer rotation thingy in Cleveland seems to be working out well. And anyway, that place is no Sunnydale. They just don't make Hellmouths like they used to." Xander grinned. "Faith's the Slayer-in-charge there currently. When I called in on my way to Detroit, she claimed to be bored to tears. Only, uh, she used more Faith-y words, which I'll leave to your able imagination."

"Yes, thank you. From the reports I've been getting you've all been doing admirably." He glanced at Xander. "Especially you."

Xander immediately looked down at his feet, clearly embarrassed by the praise. "I'm, uh, doing my humble best. It's good work, and opportunities don't exactly roll in for a one-eyed man who didn't do the college thing. I know I'm not a 'true' Watcher like the lady said, but, well, I appreciate the faith you're showing in me, Giles." He looked up at the end, meeting Giles' gaze, showing his sincerity.

"We're lucky to have you," Giles told him with all honesty. "Francesca's opinion is not held by everyone, or even a majority. You're far more what a Watcher should be than she will ever be. And you can ask any of the Slayers whom they'd rather have as a Watcher, and I guarantee that to a one they'd pick you."

Xander gave a small self-effacing grin and said with humour in his voice, "I've always had a way with the ladies... well, ladies not strictly human anyway."

It wasn't any of his business, but Giles asked anyway. "Have you been... dating at all?"

Snorting, Xander turned and patted Giles on the back for a reason not obvious to the older man. "That would require actually being in the same place for longer than a few weeks at a time. And, you know, not being constantly accompanied by nubile young superheroes would be a help too. Not that I'm complaining. Oh no, big with the not-complaining here."

Giles found himself smiling at this typical example of Xander babble; he never realised how much he missed that sort of thing until he was listening to it again. "So what was all that bisexual talk about earlier?"

Xander cringed in an exaggerated fashion. "You heard that?"

"I heard Ethan's latter comments. Is there something you want to tell _me_, Xander?"

"Uh, other than I say stupid things when I feel threatened? No, not really." Xander was still cringing.

Giles had rather figured as much. Even now, Ethan was at his most predatory when he was feeling insecure. "You know, you make Ethan as nervous as he makes you."

Xander's expression was disbelieving. "What, with the way I blatantly flaunt my heterosexuality and the whole lack of magic or superpowers, you mean? Yeah, that's me, a real in-your-face kinda guy."

"He knows that I consider you family," Giles said, wondering if he'd ever before put his feelings for Xander so plainly. "That makes you considerably daunting to him."

Xander opened his mouth and took a breath to speak, but then paused. Finally, he gave Giles a shy smile. "Thank you."

Giles clasped the younger man's shoulder. "Just the truth. And probably one I should have put words to long ago."

"You know it's mutual, right? I mean, for all of us, not just me. But for me too, 'cause I'm part of that 'us'. Obviously, I guess, as otherwise it would a 'them' and not an 'us' and the whole, erm... I'll just be shutting up now."

"I do know," Giles replied with a small smile. "But thank you for saying it."

The backdoor opened, and Ethan's voice called softly across the small lawn. "It's seven-thirty, dearheart, and much though I don't want to interrupt this sweet bonding scene you've clearly got going on, we need to get moving if we want to be there on time."

Giles looked at Xander wryly. "Apparently, we're supposed to be done now."

"I'm in England for a while, until the big meeting at least. There'll be other 'now's." Xander moved back from Giles and turned to look at Ethan, who was emerging from the doorway and slouching over toward them.

Giles noticed quickly that Ethan seemed to have gone to particular pains to appear well-groomed for their evening out together. And for the first time in recent memory, Ethan was wearing makeup. Oh, not much, just a bit of eyeliner and maybe some colour on his cheeks, but it was enough to make Giles harken back to the old days.

"You're looking... nostalgic," he said to him, holding out a hand as Ethan approached.

"It seemed appropriate." Ethan's lips were curled in a slight smirk. He took Giles' hand and kissed him on the cheek before turning to smile at Xander. "Enjoying the evening smog?"

"Smog?" Xander said, looking around. "I can see stars!"

"Oh, don't let the Christmas tree lights fool you. They're not real." Ethan was clearly in one of his more surreal moods.

"Let me apologise for Ethan," Giles said to Xander, squeezing Ethan's hand. "He takes great pleasure in spinning tales."

"I'm an artist," Ethan claimed. "Making the world a prettier place."

Xander turned to look at Ethan, and his expression froze briefly before he looked away again.

"Say it, Xander," Ethan said in a kindly tone. "I don't mind, and I won't let Rupert mind."

"Uh, I don't think so."

Ethan gave Giles a quick look, which seemed to be saying 'I'm trying', before continuing to talk to Xander. "Is it that bad? I was rather trying to avoid the Quentin Crisp look."

"I'm sure it's fine," Xander said, daring to look again. "I mean, how the hell would I know? It's just... well, you're going out with Giles. And he..."

"_He's_ been drinking from that side of the teacup for longer than you've been alive," Giles said gently. "Even if I didn't drink much tea at all for a while. It's all right, Xander."

"And I'm the tale-spinner?" Ethan laughed. "So exactly which side of a teacup is the gay side then?"

"The side with the lipstick marks?" Xander offered.

Ethan smirked at him. "A lot of gay men would be offended by that, you know. But myself, I like it. Of course, I'm not the only man here to have worn cosmetics. Shall we go, Rupert?"

"Have fun with the girls," Giles said to Xander as he let Ethan drag him off.

Xander's scandalised voice followed him as he walked in the backdoor. "You wore makeup?"


	3. Chapter 3

__  
**Then...**  


The door opened the slightest crack, and Ethan's voice was heard to say, "You can come in now, but keep your eyes closed."

"Are you going to blindfold me for the entire evening?" Rupert asked as he walked back into their rundown home, eyes obligingly closed.

Ethan giggled, and Rupert felt a hand on his arm, guiding him. He was released in what he judged must be the centre of their open-plan flat, which was a grand way of describing the single large room they'd been sharing since they decided to move in together a couple of months earlier.

Ethan seemed to move away, but not far as he then said in a low purr, "Open them, my dear." Rupert did as he was bid and looked around until he spotted his lover.

Ethan was made-up, of course. He always was when they were going out, but the face Ethan now wore was very different from his usual cosmetic style. Instead of glitter and fantasy, Ethan had opted for a look of sensual sophistication. But Rupert was too distracted by the rest of Ethan's body to appraise his face further.

Ethan was wearing a skin-tight satin dress - _the_ short scarlet dress Rupert had chosen for him earlier - which showed every undulation or bump of the boy's body. It was fairly obvious that there was nothing worn underneath it except the sheer nylon stockings covering Ethan's long legs. He was tottering on strappy high heels, his long curls seemed particularly sleek, and his nails seemed to have mysteriously grown before being painted a deep wine red.

The equally dark red lips opened, and in a low voice, Ethan asked, "Well?"

Rupert stared. When they'd first discussed this, when he'd first dared Ethan to do this, he'd expected... Well, he wasn't sure what he'd expected. He was certain that this wasn't it, however. The dress, the tights, the heels, all of it should have looked absurd, ridiculous...

It didn't. It looked, Ethan looked, stunning. He was still very much and every inch Ethan, but the dress, tights and heels all seemed perfectly natural on him. He looked as comfortable in them as he did in his usual togs. Maybe Rupert should have expected it. Ethan was always Ethan, no matter his surroundings or accoutrements.

"You look wonderful," Rupert finally managed.

Ethan wriggled, seeming to enjoy the praise. He stalked over and played the flat of his polished nails over Rupert's lips. "The heels are taking a little getting used to," he confessed, still talking in that low sultry tone. "But this feels strangely right. Will you be proud to be seen with me, my dear?"

"Always." Rupert meant it. There were some things about Ethan that shone through no matter what face he chose to show the world, a lust for life and indomitable spirit that Rupert couldn't imagine not wanting by his side.

"Shall we?" he asked, holding out his hand to Ethan with a courtly bow.

With his typical smirk exaggerated by his dark lips, Ethan placed his long-nailed hand into Rupert's. "I think we shall."

They headed out.

Ethan managed to walk on the thin heels with elegance and good posture, despite his concerns. The extra inches meant that he was notably taller than Rupert, and far taller than most of the women that they passed as they promenaded along the pavement together. Despite the long hair, natural grace, makeup, and dress -- or maybe _because_ of the dress which left little to the imagination -– Ethan was obviously male to any but the most casual glances. He drew many turned heads and muttered comments as people passed by.

Rupert glared back at the ones who were most blatant in their disapproval, silently daring them to repeat their comments or approach Ethan or himself. None of them did. He always felt protective of Ethan when they were out, something that Ethan was constantly going out of his way to encourage, but this was different. Ethan was out with him dressed like this, made up like this, because Rupert had dared him to, asked him to. He wasn't going to let Ethan suffer because of it.

"Do you know?" Ethan asked casually, "I think I rather fancy going dancing."

Unbidden, Rupert's imagination supplied pictures of how Ethan's usual sensual style of moving to the music would look in his current outfit, causing the inevitable physical reaction. "I think," he said, voice suddenly husky, "I'd fancy that too."

Ethan glanced at Rupert, perhaps hearing the desire in his voice, and smiled seductively from under his brow. "We could go to the Gatehouse," he suggested, naming a popular disco venue that they would normally both avoid like the proverbial plague.

"I thought you wanted to dance, not go to the fights," Rupert replied dryly.

Another sly glance was directed in Rupert's direction. "I just thought I could show all the Rimmel-counter girls there how it should be done. You choose though, my dear. This night's for you."

"Then how about the Roundabout?" Rupert suggested, naming a club they frequented that was a bit more accepting of those not quite fitting the straight and narrow path.

"Certainly," Ethan said agreeably. He held up his free hand as they walked, studying it. "These nails make me want to be wicked, Rupert."

"You always want to be wicked," Rupert told him. Ethan flexed his nails at Rupert, making a noise not unlike the yowl of a wildcat. The sound sent a tiny shiver down Rupert's spine, and he stopped, pulling Ethan against him. "Keep that up, and the only place we'll be going is back home. To bed."

Ethan moved sinuously against Rupert, swinging his hips in a slow rhythm. "But I want to dance, my dear. You said I could." He slowly licked his lower lip and then pouted. It was a deliberately provocative display, but Ethan seemed quite oblivious to the gawking stares it was engendering from passers by.

Rupert groaned, his own hips moving instinctively with Ethan's. "You're not helping your argument," he pointed out.

The satin of the dress slid under Rupert's hands as Ethan slow-danced to an inaudible tune. "I suppose I should stop then," he said, grinning.

"Unless you want me to shag you right here in the middle of the street, yes." He paused. "No, I'm not going to shag you in the middle of the street, before you ask."

"You know me so well," Ethan laughed. He separated himself from Rupert and took the his hand again. "Onto the Roundabout then..." Ethan paused as he looked down at himself and then laughed louder. "Oh God, I'm going to get arrested."

"That's why we're going to the Roundabout instead of the Gatehouse," Rupert said, as they started walking again. "To avoid getting arrested."

The Roundabout was only a couple more streets away, and they made it there without further incident. It was relatively dark inside, and while Rupert strongly suspected there were no other men in dresses there, it was at least full of glam-rockers, and Ethan wasn't likely to do more than turn heads.

There was a song by T-Rex playing, one of Ethan's favourites, and as soon as they were through the door, Rupert found himself being dragged onto the dance floor. He went willingly enough, although he wasn't in Ethan's class when it came to dancing. Ethan had the ability to completely lose himself in the music, letting it carry him along in a way that Rupert had never been able to manage.

Ethan immediately raised his arms above his head and started to move in a decidedly sexual arse-twitching rhythm. He didn't move his gaze from Rupert's, his lips pursed in a kind of pouting smile and his general attitude provocative and challenging. Marc Bolan's somewhat surreal lyrics seemed to be talking for Rupert as he watched his lover. Dirty sweet, that was Ethan tonight.

Rupert was usually content to stand back and watch Ethan move –bewitching the others on the dance floor and making himself the centre of attention– but not tonight. Tonight, Rupert didn't want to share. He moved close, sliding his hands around Ethan's waist, letting the movement of Ethan's hips guide his own.

The music changed to something with a slow disco beat, and Ethan slowly dropped his arms down from above his head to loop loosely around Rupert's neck. His dance slowed to the new rhythm, the swaying of his hips becoming smoother and more sensual. His eyes, glittering under the flashing lights, held Rupert far more tightly than his hands.

They drew him in, pulling Rupert closer, until he just had to cover Ethan's lips with his own.

Ethan's mouth tasted of lipstick and tobacco, and kissing Rupert wantonly in no way stopped or even paused Ethan's dance. It did mean he was now moving directly against Rupert's body, however, rubbing the smooth, slinky satin all over him.

Rupert groaned, briefly closing his eyes the better to focus on the sensations. "We're not going to be here long," he warned, already wanting to drag Ethan back to their flat and fuck him through the mattress.

"A few more songs?" Ethan purred into Rupert's ear. He was clearly really enjoying himself.

"A few more songs," Rupert agreed, unable to ruin his fun. "Or at least, as many as as I can control myself for," he added wryly.

Grinning, Ethan seemed to make an attempt to stop moving quite so stimulatingly against Rupert. It lasted as long as the song did. As the infectious beat of the next number began, Ethan's hips, almost as if of their own accord, started to move in time once more.

He lifted his arms again and slowly began to turn within Rupert's, until his twitching arse was pressing against Rupert's groin, rubbing from side to side. Rupert's fingers tightened their grip Ethan's waist, whether to encourage or discourage the movements, he wasn't entirely sure. Mostly, he decided, he was just hanging on for the ride.

Ethan tossed his hair back, getting it out of his eyes presumably, and Rupert found himself with a face full of scented curls. "Right," Rupert said, leaning forward to speak directly into Ethan's ear. "Last song. Then we're going."

Turning back round to face him, Ethan pouted. Rupert expected a petulant complaint, but instead Ethan then grinned evilly, his teeth glinting in the strobe currently playing over them. Ethan slid his taloned hand between their bodies to cup the front of Rupert's jeans.

Rupert caught his breath and finally pulled away, reaching down to grab Ethan's hand and pull him with him as he moved off the dance floor. It was far from the first time he'd dragged Ethan from a dance floor in the six months or so they'd been together, and Rupert was sure it wouldn't be the last. He pulled him outside where Ethan more or less collapsed against the wall, trying to heave breath in between fits of giggles.

"I... I can't... can't run... in these bloody things!" he gasped.

"Can you fuck in them?" Rupert asked in a low, husky voice as he pinned Ethan against the wall, grinding his hips against him. He'd given up on the idea of getting home; now all he wanted was a dark corner in a backstreet somewhere.

That sobered Ethan quickly. He moaned and thrust his own hips forward to meet Rupert. "Yes, I'm quite certain I can manage that," he said breathily.

"Not here, you two," said the deep voice of the bouncer on the door, clearly not caring much, just doing his job. "Try the alley down the side of Burtons," he added with a chuckle.

Rupert reluctantly pulled away, keeping Ethan's hand in his as they headed off to find said dark alley. "You make me lose my mind," Rupert accused, although there wasn't much heat behind it.

"I'll keep it safe," Ethan promised, trotting along in his heels, trying to keep up with the urgent pace of Rupert's stride.

Burtons was a little way up the road and took them past the Wig and Fidget, a notorious rocker pub. Even in his lust-fogged state, Rupert knew there would be trouble as soon as he saw the small crowd of bikers outside on the pavement. Rupert slowed his pace, pulling Ethan to his side and added a bit of a swagger to his own walk, doing everything he could to put out 'you don't want to mess with me' vibes.

In situations like this before, Ethan had been known to deliberately provoke violence, getting off on Rupert's ability to protect him, but somehow even he had the sense to just walk the walk and not talk the talk here. There was feeling from the leather-jacketed gang of danger and malice. Rupert wouldn't have been at all surprised to hear that this particular group of Hell's Angels lived up to their reputation as active devil-worshippers.

All of which made for a sense of deliverance when Rupert and Ethan emerged through the congregation unscathed. The gang's conversation had fallen silent, and each head had turned to watch Ethan, but not a word had been said, and no move against the pair had been taken.

Rupert allowed himself a small sigh of relief when they were out of the immediate vicinity. "Thank you," he said softly to Ethan, acknowledging that he hadn't aggravated the situation for once.

"I know our limits, Rupert," Ethan replied, equally softly.

By the time they reached the corner of Burtons, they were well away from the malevolent crowd. Rupert was considering changing his mind and taking them both home for a more comfortable experience, but Ethan, having apparently returned to his state of irrepressible joi de vivre, giggled and tugged Rupert into the alleyway.

"Must do what the nice bouncer told us, my dear," he said.

"Ethan, I don't think–" Rupert began, but was cut off by Ethan kissing him.

Maintaining the kiss, Ethan slowly backed them into the alley. He was moving as if dancing again, his hips slowly sashaying, his body undulating against Rupert's.

Rupert's resistance quickly crumbled under Ethan's seductive movements, and he took charge, pushing Ethan against the wall, back in the shadows. "You make me lose my mind," he growled again, before devouring Ethan's mouth and grinding his hips against him.

"It's good for you," Ethan gasped, when his mouth was briefly free again. He'd pushed his hands up under Rupert's jacket and now dragged his polished nails down the length of Rupert's back, the thin cotton t-shirt doing nothing much to protect Rupert's skin from the talons.

Rupert hissed at the sudden sting and pushed Ethan against the wall harder. Reaching down, he grabbed Ethan's wrists, pulling his arms above his head and pinning them against the brick wall. "You're being wicked," Rupert observed.

Ethan grinned hungrily. "Punish me then," he offered, still swinging his hips to a slow, unheard beat.

"And just how should I do that?" Keeping Ethan's wrists pinned with one hand, Rupert slowly slid his other hand down Ethan's body, teasing the both of them, finally ending with his hand covering the bulge of Ethan's cock.

Ethan stilled, his chest heaving somewhat with passion, his painted mouth open. "This feels more like a reward so far," he chuckled. Rupert grinned and deliberately moved his hand away. Whimpering, Ethan tried to push his hips towards the errant hand. "Would it help if I said I was sorry?"

"You're not," Rupert said, leaning in and teasing Ethan's lips with his own.

"We could make-believe I was?" Ethan suggested. Apparently realising the pointlessness of trying to pursue Rupert's lips while held like this, Ethan instead balanced on one foot and drew a stockinged thigh up Rupert's leg.

Rupert chuckled, still teasing Ethan with an almost kiss. "Like I said, wicked."

"If 'sorry' won't work, how about 'please'?" Ethan's leg wrapped around Rupert's arse, trying to pull him closer.

"Begging would be acceptable," Rupert said, allowing Ethan to pull him flush against him.

"Please sir, can I have some more?" It was said with a smirk and a grinding of hips.

Rupert laughed again, the sound deep and throaty. "You're no innocent orphan tyke." He did some hip grinding of his own.

Ethan dropped the smirk and looked at Rupert from under his brow, his gaze intense, and his tone when he spoke was hungry and not at all humble, but definitely sincere. "Please kiss me, Rupert. Please fuck me. I need you. Please."

This was one of the things that had so caught Rupert right from the beginning. Ethan kept himself so walled off from the world; his outrageous airs and appearance were all a form of misdirection, sleight of hand to keep the world from seeing how little he did share. But Ethan let Rupert see behind all of that; Ethan, who didn't need anyone, needed him. That was a heady aphrodisiac.

Murmuring, "Yes," Rupert leaned in and ravaged Ethan's mouth.

Ethan groaned and writhed between Rupert and the wall, his cock a hard lump beneath the satin and his arms tugging at Rupert's grip on his wrists. "God," he gasped, when his mouth was briefly freed. "Yes. God, yes."

Rupert let go of Ethan's wrists with a muttered, "Keep them there," and dropped both of his hands down to Ethan's waist. The skirt of the dress was tight, and it was going to take slow, careful tugging to get it up out of the way without tearing the fabric.

"Rip it, Rupert," Ethan said urgently, his hands still obediently above his head. "I can nick another."

"But it wouldn't be this one," Rupert said, logically. "I like this one."

He'd worked the fabric up to Ethan's hips when he felt him tense up, Ethan's hands slowly dropping from above his head. One look at the expression on Ethan's face was enough to immediately cull Rupert's ardour. He whirled around, only to find himself flying sideways into the rubbish sacks and bins at the end of the alleyway.

The sudden impact stunned Rupert, and the world almost went away for a few seconds, but he managed, barely, to keep hold of consciousness.

There were voices. Ethan was saying, "Hmm, hello boys," and despite the bravado, Rupert could hear the fear in his voice, lots of it. "You are rather interr– no!" Rupert tried to force himself to move; Ethan was in danger.

"Now just what the fuck d'you think you are, girlie-boy?" asked a rough voice.

"He's pretty enough," said another. "Got a hole same as any bitch. I say we have some fun."

"Always said you were a fucking poof, Terry. Still, you got a point. This hair real, you reckon?"

"Ow! Yes, it's quite real, thank you." Ethan again. "Would you mind terribly moving that hand, Jerry, Terry, or whoever you are?"

"Yeah, I'll move it alright." The voice chuckled, and Rupert heard Ethan bite back a gasp.

Enough was enough. He _had_ to move. Forcing himself to turn over, Rupert dragged himself up to his feet, his head clearing as rage erupted inside him from what he saw. Five of the bikers they'd passed earlier were surrounding Ethan, pawing him, and by the look on Ethan's face, hurting him.

Rupert reacted on instinct, taking several steps forward, but stopping when it became clear that there was no way he could get them all far enough away from Ethan fast enough to prevent retaliation. No physical way at least. Fortunately, he wasn't restricted to merely the physical.

He'd never done this particular spell before, but the words flowed from his lips with no hesitation, and the energies twisted and gathered under his will with eager speed. When the last word was uttered, he tossed the first ball of power at the pillock who was actually touching Ethan, throwing him back to the edge of the alley. Before the others could react, he'd sent four more balls of power in quick succession, sending them sprawling as well.

Rupert had just enough time to check Ethan was still in one piece before he was being rushed from all sides, the Hell's Angels recovering from the magic attack with the speed that only the drunk, or more likely drugged, could.

Two of the bastards grabbed him and slammed him back into a wall, winding him. A third grinned and hefted a knife towards Rupert's gut. He couldn't see the other two, but he suspected with a sinking feeling that they were after Ethan again.

Using the restraining hold that the two bastards had on him as leverage, Rupert lifted his feet off the ground and kicked out, blocking the stabbing motion coming his way and hearing the satisfying sound of bones snapping from the blow.

The knife clattered to the tarmac.

From one side, Rupert heard, "Fuck it! You little bitch!" and then a hard smacking noise. He spared a glance and took in Ethan lying sprawled on the ground, bleeding from the nose and mouth, a biker standing over him. The man's face sported long red claw marks across one eye, and his boot was raised to kick. "You'll pay for that, you queer cunt."

Rupert lost it.

It was like a red mist descended over his vision. He ceased to think, becoming merely a bundle of instincts and violence, a veritable whirlwind of punching, biting, kicking. Flesh gave, bones broke under his fists and feet, blood spurted, and bodies went down around him. He didn't spend much attention on them once they did, save to briefly make sure they _stayed_ down. His attention, his ire, his violence, was focused on the one who had made Ethan bleed.

Rupert was going to make _him_ bleed.

The tosser was viciously kicking Ethan when Rupert got to him, his lover curled into a protective ball on the ground. "Fucking boy-whore! I can't see out of this frigging eye now, you little shit-eater!"

When the bastard pulled his foot back to kick again, Rupert grabbed his leg and jerked it upward viciously, sending him sprawling. Then Rupert started kicking _him_.

The arsehole didn't stand a chance and was soon curled up, much like Ethan had been. Ethan, however, Rupert was highly relieved to see, had unrolled enough to be watching him with big eyes. His face was a mess of makeup, tears and blood. Which only infuriated Rupert more. Again and again, he pulled his foot back and kicked the bastard. He could feel ribs giving under his assault and could imagine internal organs bruising and bleeding, and such thoughts only made him more vicious.

This was what the bastard had wanted to do to Ethan; this was what Rupert was going to do to him.

A hand caught hold of his. Ethan had somehow managed to struggle to his feet and was pulling at Rupert, trying to move him away from the stricken biker. "You're going to kill him, Rupert," Ethan said in a weak, breathless voice, spitting out blood. "And while I find that idea highly pleasurable in the immediate, it would hurt you in the long run. So please don't."

Rupert stared at Ethan for a long moment then finally nodded. He kicked the bastard one more time and then stepped away. "Let's get the hell out of here," he said to Ethan, sliding an arm around his injured lover's waist to help support him.

"Yes," Ethan agreed, leaning heavily on Rupert as they made their way out of the backstreet. "There's a fifth one somewhere." Ethan was half bent over and holding himself around his middle. "I need a safe place to restore myself somewhat," he whispered.

"We're not that far from home," Rupert said, turning them in that direction. "Can you... do you want me to carry you?"

Ethan didn't answer directly. "I think some of my ribs are broken and maybe... maybe worse internally. Bastard didn't hold back. Nothing I can't heal with magic."

Wordlessly, Rupert stopped, shifted his grip, and picked Ethan up. "I'm torn between taking you to Casualty and going back to take it out of those pillocks' hides some more."

Gasping as he was lifted, Ethan then said in a reedy voice, "Neither, my dear. Just get me to where I can invoke power safely. This will take several layers of enspelling to restore." He made a small sound which Rupert eventually realised was meant to be a laugh. "Then we can curse them if you fancy it."

Rupert walked as quickly as he could, consciously trying to keep his gait smooth to avoid jarring Ethan anymore than absolutely necessary. He hated seeing Ethan like this, hated even more that it was because he hadn't protected Ethan like he'd promised.

"I'm sorry," he murmured softly.

"What on earth for? None of that was your fault. Mine plausibly..."

"I told you when we first discussed you going out like this that I would protect you." Rupert grimaced with guilt. "I wasn't much of a protector."

"Rupert..." Ethan stirred painfully in his arms. "You were magnificent. I've... oh. You were a force of sodding nature. And all for me. God, if I didn't feel like... Well, like I've had seven barrels of shit kicked out of me, I'd be showing you very clearly how... how incredible you were. And are."

"I wasn't incredible enough. If I was, you wouldn't be feeling like you've had seven barrels of shit kicked out of you. I should've been faster. I should've–"

"Oh, do shut up, dear." Ethan laughed then groaned in pain. Growing serious again, he added. "If anyone other than you had been with me, I would have been gang-raped and left for dead by now. You are just going to have to live with the fact of your heroism."

With an odd mix of guilt and possessiveness, Rupert said, "You wouldn't have been in that alley with anyone but me."

Ethan sighed, but said nothing more, and the rest of the journey home was silent. Rupert had to put him down to open the door, but then lifted and carried Ethan to the bed inside, wincing as noises of pain came from Ethan's swollen mouth.

Ethan turned to look at Rupert from the pillow. "I'm going to be fine, dear. Just need a few moments."

Rupert gently brushed a hand against Ethan's cheek, then straightened. "I'll get some things to help clean you up," he said softly, willing himself to believe Ethan's words. He'd give him the requested few moments at least before he allowed himself to worry.

Rupert went into their small bathroom, the only part of the flat kept separate from the rest, and collected together what they had in the way of first aid supplies, which really wasn't up to the task. When he returned to the main room, however, he could feel the power in the air.

Ethan was lying on the bed with his eyes shut, mumbling Latin. His body was twitching, and when Rupert got closer, he was able to observe with sick fascination as the huge and darkening bruises on Ethan's bare arms started to fade and disappear.

Rupert sat on the edge of the bed and watched, but was careful not to disturb Ethan's concentration.

A thin sheen of sweat broke out on Ethan as he continued, but he was smiling as if enjoying the use of power. Despite both their ability with magic, their experimentation together so far had been rather low key, and Rupert had never seen, or felt, Ethan employ magic on such a scale before.

Rupert got caught up in watching and feeling this new side of his lover, Ethan's power making his skin tingle and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It felt different from Rupert's own magic, seeming more sharp and prickly, but it was Ethan's, and it was healing him, and that was what was important.

Ethan's eyes opened and met Rupert's. For a few moments, the dark eyes were swirling with red, but then they cleared. "There. That's sorted then," he said, grinning. "Never felt better."

"You're amazing," Rupert said, the words heartfelt. He reached for Ethan's hand.

Ethan squeezed his hand. "Thanks, but no. You're the amazing one. Really, you are. I suppose I must look a bit of a fright, otherwise I'd present you with an argument you couldn't deny."

"That at least I can do something about." Rupert picked up the damp cloth he'd got from the bathroom with the first aid supplies and slowly began cleaning the blood, dirt and ruined makeup off Ethan's face.

Ethan closed his eyes and let himself be tended to. "You should have seen yourself, Rupert," he said happily, almost dreamily. "You moved so fast, each blow deadly accurate. I've really never seen anything like it. God, if I hadn't been playing my role of maiden in distress a little too well at the time, I would have been so very aroused, just watching you."

"I don't like seeing you get hurt," Rupert said, finding himself a little embarrassed at Ethan's praise.

"Almost worth it, to see you in action," Ethan replied. "And you did that for me." He opened his eyes and locked gazes with Rupert, repeating in a low intense tone, "You did it for me."

Rupert felt like he could fall into Ethan's dark eyes and never climb out. "I said I'd protect you," he said, dropping the cloth and caressing Ethan's face with light fingers. But the words didn't seem quite right so he tried again. "You're mine. I protect what's mine."

Ethan's eyes flickered briefly shut again. "I like being yours," he said, and it was easy to tell Ethan was understating strong emotions. He turned towards Rupert's fingers, kissing them.

"I rather like it too," Rupert replied, sliding his hand back into Ethan's hair and leaning over to kiss him lingeringly. "I should've cut their balls off for daring to touch you."

A shiver ran through Ethan, and he smiled delightedly. He raised a taloned hand to Rupert's face. "You make me feel like I'm... sacred."

Rupert met Ethan's gaze. "You are," he said simply. "To me."

He could feel Ethan's hand tremble a little. "Rupert?"

"Yes, love?"

Ethan's eyes seemed to flicker with the red of his earlier magic. His voice was low. "Would you do me inestimable favour of fucking me so hard I can't remember that anyone else ever touched me? Fuck me clean of them?"

Rupert was hit with the conflicting desires to be as gentle as he could, treating Ethan like he was something priceless and breakable, and the desire to fuck him through the mattress. He compromised between the two, stretching his full length out on top of Ethan, but kissing him gently with all the reverence one should hold for something sacred.

Ethan was quickly moaning, but with what sounded more like frustration than passion. He thrust his hips up at Rupert. "_Hard_, Rupert. Please. Hard and rough. I need purification." He slid his hands under Rupert's shirt and scraped those hard nails down his back again as if in way of encouragement.

Hissing at the pain, Rupert instinctively grabbed Ethan's arms, pulling his hands away roughly.

"That's right." Ethan grinned hungrily, wrapping his calves around Rupert's. "Make me yours again."

Arousal surged through Rupert at Ethan's look, Ethan's words, and he pushed Ethan's hands into the pillows over his head, leaning in to devour his mouth, all gentleness gone.

Now Ethan's moans were clearly of passion. He writhed, the movements lacking the co-ordination of his earlier silent dancing, and he tried to move his legs further up Rupert's, but was hampered by his tight skirt.

Rupert slid one hand down to help move the skirt out of the way, but their positions, Ethan's writhing, and the tightness of the fabric, stymied his efforts. Growling, Rupert got hold of the edge of the skirt and yanked, ripping it up the seam.

Half-gasping, half-laughing, Ethan moved his legs to curl around Rupert's waist. "Now you've torn it!"

"Any complaints?" Rupert asked, rocking his hips hard against Ethan.

"God, none." Ethan shoved himself up against Rupert's jeans, inviting him to come and play. "Rip the sodding thing all you want. I like you violent, Rupert; you know that. Like when you ripped into those bastards for me just now." He smiled greedily. "You're my ripper."

Rupert barked laughter at the idea. "Just don't call me Jack," he growled, stealing another kiss and tearing Ethan's skirt even higher.

Ethan laughed and threw his head back into the pillow. "Just Ripper," he panted. "Need you, Ripper. Need you now."

Beginning to feel as desperate as Ethan, Rupert pulled away long enough to fumble in the box on their bedside tea chest for lube. Having found it, he looked back at Ethan and took in the sight of his lover, sprawled wantonly on the bed. Messed up hair and smudged kohl, a dirty torn dress and laddered stockings, a look of intense lust in the dark eyes – Rupert wasn't sure he'd ever seen Ethan look more desirable.

"God, I want you," he groaned, opening the lube and preparing them both as quickly as he could.

"I'm yours to take," Ethan said, making little whimpering noises whenever he was touched.

"Yes." The word came out as a growl as Rupert pushed into Ethan's body. "Mine."

With a guttural groan, Ethan shut his eyes. "This is all for you. Oh. No one else gets to have this."

Rupert watched Ethan's face as he fucked him, feeling the wonder he always did when they got this far – not so much the sex, but the connection, the way that Ethan would suddenly just open up for him and let him see, let him in...

"Mine," he repeated, knowing that in that moment it was true; he had Ethan in a way that no one else'd had, or ever would.

The dark eyes opened and met his, Ethan's expression unreadable. "It's a deal, you know, Rupert," he said, groaning then as something particularly powerful shot through him.

Rupert thrust harder, wanting, _needing_ to get closer, to get more of Ethan. "What is?" he managed to gasp.

"Me being yours," Ethan said through gritted teeth as he was jerked up the bed an inch at a time by the power of Rupert's thrusts. "God, so good..."

"Oh." Rupert thrust even harder, thinking becoming more difficult as he began to lose himself in the act. "Yes, mine. Deal."

"You get to... have me... the real me... oh." Ethan struggled to keep speaking through the breath-stealing onslaught. "But you have... to be my... Ripper in return."

Yes. To have Ethan as his, to be Ethan's in return, to be what Ethan needed him to be, that's what he wanted. Shifting position, he manoeuvred Ethan until he could reach Ethan's mouth.

"Deal," Ripper breathed, before kissing Ethan senseless.


	4. Chapter 4

_ **Now...** _

"Now this goes beyond Memory Lane to Déjà vu Avenue," Ethan said as he and Rupert walked from the tube station together. "You and I out for an evening together, me dressed up to the nines... I feel nineteen again."

"Some things are different," Rupert said, reaching out for Ethan's hand as they walked. "But this does feel familiar."

Glancing at Rupert, Ethan smiled. "Are you ready to bring the Ripper out when the first bunch of young louts we meet take exception to this?" Ethan squeezed the hand in his.

"Not likely in this part of town." Rupert smiled.

"Well, not at this time of night anyway," Ethan acknowledged. "Currently, the only skinheads we'll see are more likely to protect us than threaten us."

They were in South London, close to the Thames, and walking through an area studded with gay clubs and pubs. They passed many same-sex couples, smiles and nods often being exchanged, and it was... more than pleasant. Ethan felt a surge of pride flood through him, to be here, with Rupert, made him feel decidedly smug.

"Have you guessed where we're heading yet?" he asked.

"I haven't given it much thought, actually. Although judging from our location and the fact that you're, as you said, dressed to the nines," Rupert gave him a teasing smile, "I would assume it's somewhere you can dance."

Nodding, Ethan replied, "You're not likely to guess beyond that actually... unless you know this area better than I think you do. And if you do, I want the full details please."

Rupert mock-glared. "Are you implying I had a social life without you?"

Ethan chuckled. "You did seem to rather lose the knack for a while. I kept it up myself, off and on, but it was an empty experience without you; just a means to an end." He tugged on Rupert's hand, pausing them on the pavement, and reached with his free fingers to touch Rupert's face. "You are the song to my dance, dearheart. Without you, there was no music left inside me to move my body."

Some part of Ethan noted that the usual cynical dryness he would have once felt compelled to use when expressing such romantic concepts was lacking from his voice. Well, almost. He and Rupert had reached a point where there could be no shame between them about such things.

Rupert's expression became serious, and he slid a hand up to rest at the nape of Ethan's neck. "That was a definite crime. The way you move is one of the wonders of the world, love."

Ethan beamed. "Right next to your singing then." He kissed Rupert softly on the cheek, and they resumed walking. "So tell me about young Xander. What's his story?"

"Xander was there from the beginning in Sunnydale." Rupert's eyes seemed full of memories. "I've watched him grow up, just like Buffy and Willow. Is there something specific you want to know?"

"He seems, hmm, sad under the banter. Is that because of his eye, or is there something more?"

Rupert grew momentarily silent, and some of the sadness that Ethan had perceived around Xander suddenly seemed to be clinging to Rupert as well. "His ex-fiancée was killed in that last battle to close the Hellmouth."

"Ex, but not really, I take it? Poor bloke." Ethan tried hard not to think about how easily it could have been Rupert who was killed during that apocalyptic fight... or indeed, any of the other apocalyptic fights Rupert had been involved in. "You knew her too, I presume."

"Oh yes." Rupert smiled fondly. "Anya was my business partner in the Magic Box. She took over when I went back to England. She was quite extraordinary."

"Ah. Such a shame I was never around to witness you in your role as shopkeeper," Ethan teased mildly. "I would've liked to have seen that, although I imagine you would've refused to serve me."

"We would've had words, certainly," Rupert agreed, squeezing his hand. "Anya, however, would have only made sure your money was good."

"Very sensible too. You can't get picky about customers if you want to run a profitable business, which is probably why both of our tenures as shopkeepers didn't last that long." They were approaching their destination; Ethan could already hear some familiar rhythms. The way people nearby were dressed also pointed the way.

"My shop was destroyed by a driven-mad-by-grief witch," Rupert replied dryly. "What was your excuse?"

"Hmm, you ran me out of town, if I recall correctly... not that I really went, of course, but I could hardly lurk unseen and run a thriving business simultaneously. Here we are." Ethan pulled Rupert to a stop outside the Tavern.

It was a large and odd-shaped building standing on its own in the apex of a junction. Rounded at the front and angular at the back like a slice of cake, it couldn't really be called attractive, but it was certainly memorable. The roads outside were full of people – mostly men, and mostly shaven-headed as was a popular look amongst the older gay crowd these days it seemed.

Older, but not of the age of Ethan and Rupert, however, which fact Ethan tried hard to ignore. The blackboards around the main door declared it to be Seventies Revival Night. Most of the men Ethan could see would have been still in nappies at the time of Glam rock.

Rupert laughed when he saw the signs. "I see this really is a trip back to our past. Complete with the music of the time."

"Yes," Ethan smiled. "It seemed appropriate for our first evening out since we got married. Are you ready for this, my dear?"

"I'm entirely yours."

The simple truth of that statement was enough to make Ethan feel a little overwhelmed. It wasn't helped by the fact that he found he was already a bit nervous. Coven moots aside, it had been about a decade since he had last gone dancing. Suddenly and uncharacteristically insecure, he moved closer to Rupert, seeking an embrace. "We could always go somewhere quieter if you'd prefer."

Rupert wrapped his arms around Ethan's waist. "I want to see you dance," he said softly; then added after a slight pause, "But you could dance for me at home if you'd feel more comfortable..."

Rupert knew. Rupert always knew these days when there was something wrong, and that was really all the reassurance Ethan needed. He smiled and pulled back, grabbing Rupert's hand and tugging him through the doors, into the flashing lights and throbbing beat beyond.

They paused for a brief moment once inside, taking in the atmosphere and the décor. "It's definitely been a while," Rupert commented wryly, raising his voice to be heard over the music.

Things really hadn't changed that much. The air still stank of beer, fags and sweat as it had in the clubs of their youth. There was still too little room on the dance floor and no room at all at the bar. Ethan frowned and began to consider crowd movement as a natural pattern. As soon as he thought it, he could see it, and see where to twist.

Laughing, he leant to speak into Rupert's ear. "Would it be terribly wicked to use magic in the pursuit of beer?"

Rupert looked at the bar. "I won't tell, if you don't," he finally replied with a hint of his old Ripperish smile.

Delighted, Ethan grinned back. He squeezed Rupert's hand and then sent out his magical senses. As they walked towards the bar, Ethan pulled at the living warp and weft of the Tavern crowd. It felt like parting the Red Sea as people simultaneously thought of something they just had to do elsewhere and the way cleared.

"Very deft touch," Rupert murmured in his ear when they got to the bar, his arms coming around Ethan's waist from behind.

"Mine's a pint of export," Ethan said with a grin, warmed by the praise. He pushed back slightly against Rupert and began to move with the rhythm.

Rupert's grip tightened, pulling him just that bit closer as he raised his voice to give their drink order to the barman. "Going to work up a sweat tonight?" he growled for Ethan's hearing alone while they waited for their drinks.

"That was my general intention." As they waited for the drinks to be poured, Ethan's movements became increasingly dance-like, his shoulders and arse swaying to and fro to the rhythm, his body rubbing against Rupert's. "This feels... good."

Rupert laughed, the sound deep and husky. "'Good' may be an understatement."

Their drinks arrived, and they separated just enough to allow themselves to consume them. Ethan downed his pint quickly, impatient to get to the dance floor. There was the familiar buzz as the alcohol from the strong beer hit his system, and he grinned broadly at Rupert, leaning in to kiss him. Physical communication seemed easier than trying to express anything complex over the music.

Rupert kissed him back just as enthusiastically, tasting of love, magic, and the alcohol he'd just consumed. Pulling apart, he grinned at Ethan and asked, "Shall we take this to the dance floor?"

Ethan smiled and nodded, and hands held, they made their way into the crowd. To make a space to dance in, Ethan used a little bit of magical tweaking not dissimilar to the method Ian had used to keep ants away from them in the woods.

The alcohol, and more importantly Rupert's eyes upon him, gave Ethan all the confidence he required to let his body move instinctively to the music. Moves he didn't think he'd used since the last time he'd been clubbing with Rupert, came back to him naturally. Any residual self-consciousness simply vanished as the simple joy of dancing took hold of him, and he gave himself up to the experience.

It wasn't a surprise that Rupert was more conservative, at least at first, his dancing less demonstrative and a bit self-conscious. The surprise came as time wore on, after Ethan began to lose himself to the music. Rupert's movements became smoother and more confident, moving in perfect synch, Ethan's enthusiasm seeming to carry Rupert along.

Ethan watched Rupert with appreciation, deliberately now leading them both in a physical duet. It was exciting to move like this together, akin both to sex and to the combined magic exercises set them in Devon by their mentors. Ian and Lucy had given them a progressive series of 'lessons' to help learn to use their magic effectively together, lessons they were still working their way through. This dance felt a lot like the experience of wielding magic as a synchronised pair.

As they moved, gradually Rupert began to occasionally take the lead, initiating the movements that Ethan willingly and joyfully followed. This was the way it was supposed to be between them, completely and totally together, each of them equally able to lead at any given second. The way, Ethan realised with a small wince, it wasn't during sex.

Putting such concerns aside, Ethan moved closer to Rupert so that now their dance involved touch and a more intimate interaction of their bodies. Rupert smiled as he met Ethan's gaze, his hips pressed against Ethan's and moving with the beat. He leant in for a kiss, but stopped just before their lips would have touched, hovering just out of reach.

Ethan grinned at the teasing and licked his lips. He then sent out a little flicker of his magic to bridge the gap between their mouths. Eyes darkening at that, Rupert let his smile widen and sent back a little flicker of his own; Ethan felt it buzzing under his skin. He felt his cock twitch and start to harden in response.

Pressing even closer, Ethan tugged Rupert's T-shirt out of his jeans and slipped his hand underneath to make contact with the skin of his back. Ethan let his touch not only send a pulse of magic through Rupert, but also to provide Ethan a good connection for something else. Something he'd only done once before and that was in a meadow in Devon.

Ethan traced the patterns of Rupert's arousal, and very subtly, pulled on them magically.

He felt more than heard Rupert's groan in response and watched as Rupert tilted his head back in a silent surrender to Ethan's touch. The dance continued, their feet moving together instinctively, somehow interweaving without ever entangling. Their growing erections rubbed together as their bodies moved.

Grinning somewhat smugly, Ethan used his power to tug at Rupert again, increasing the pleasure and sensation he was experiencing. Ethan buried his face against Rupert's neck and bit gently at the same time. Rupert groaned again, sliding his hands down Ethan's body and cupping his arse as they moved, their movements becoming even more blatantly sexual as they continued.

Ethan moved his lips to Rupert's, and they began to kiss in earnest. Through his awareness of the patterns, Ethan knew exactly how aroused Rupert was, and the shape of his excitement was beautiful, complex and throbbing like a living thing.

Almost as if echoing his own thoughts, Ethan very clearly heard Rupert say, _'So beautiful,'_ in an awed tone, only to then realise that Rupert's lips were against his own and hadn't spoken.

Ethan pulled back a little way, and although he stopped neither the dance nor the exchange of magic, he looked at Rupert a little questioningly.

"What is it?" Rupert asked, and although Ethan couldn't hear him over the music, the words sounded clearly in his mind.

So, as well as linking through dance and magic, they were linking minds? It made sense, looking at it like that, but it remained a very powerful experience for Ethan. Laughing a little incredulously, he spoke within his own mind to Rupert, keeping his lips firmly shut. _'I love you.'_

Rupert's eyes widened, and then he laughed also and leant in to kiss Ethan again. His voice sounded clearly in Ethan's mind. _'I love you too.'_

In all his years of magic use, Ethan had never had anyone enter his mind. It was his one truly private place, or at least it always had been. He didn't mind Rupert penetrating even there, in fact it felt quite desperately 'right', but Ethan found his emotional reaction to it all was a bit... staggering. Rather overwhelmed by developments, he moaned heavily into the kiss. _'Want you,'_ he thought. '_Need you now.'_

_'What, on the dance floor?' _Rupert's voice in his mind was laced with laughter and arousal.

"Ripper, please, I... God, please." Ethan was saying the words as well as thinking them now. He was feeling a little lost, somewhat out of control; the mental connection on top of everything else was more than he could easily handle. He needed Rupert to make sense of it all.

He wanted Rupert to take control of the situation and of him, and the easiest way to ensure this was through the sex that they were both already very much in the mood for.

"Is there somewhere we can go?" Rupert asked, the words still more in Ethan's mind than his ears.

Ethan didn't know, and he was too flustered to use his magical sense to try and find out. Instead, he rather guiltily pulled on the pattern he was already in touch with, that of Rupert's arousal, hoping to make him as desperate as Ethan was. So that Rupert would take control and find them somewhere.

He felt the surge of arousal go through Rupert's body at his manipulation and saw his eyes grow dazed and even darker. "Ethan..." Rupert growled, whether warning or plea, Ethan couldn't tell.

"Please," Ethan begged. "Christ, Ripper. Please." Fecklessly, he tugged on the pattern again, and Rupert shook in reaction, before finally breaking and shoving Ethan up against a support column with enough force to make Ethan lose his breath, the brutal kiss that followed completing the job.

God, yes. This was what Ethan needed so badly. Ripper taking control of him; it made the world make sense again. He didn't give a damn that they were in the middle of a public dance floor; he'd cloak them if necessary; Ian had shown him how. _'Yours,'_ he thought powerfully. '_Take me.'_

Rupert seemed single-mindedly intent on doing just that, appearing to have been pushed past the point of rational thought. He fumbled with the fastenings of Ethan's trousers, kissing him like it was a predatory act.

While he could still think at all, as it was clear he soon wouldn't be capable of much beyond moaning and grunting, Ethan felt out with his magic into the crowd and strengthened his space-clearing spell, making it much more than that. He twisted the pattern of the dancing crowd, ensuring that eyes would pass over Rupert and himself, seeing, but not noticing, effectively making them invisible.

If Rupert registered the added use of magic he didn't react. Finally getting Ethan's trousers open, Rupert pushed them and Ethan's underwear down almost to his knees. Then Rupert roughly spun him around until his face was pressed against the column.

A brief second was all Ethan had to get used to the new position, before Rupert's cock was pushing into him on a stream of magic.

Ethan had no words. Words were all gone. Rupert... Ripper... made no attempt to go slowly at first, pistoning into Ethan's arse with violent abandon. Ethan's body was overtaken: Ripper's cock, Ripper's magic, Ripper's incoherent thoughts all inside Ethan. He gave himself up utterly to Ripper, no longer caring about losing control as Ripper had hold of him in every sense.

Gradually, Ethan became aware of a rhythm to Ripper's thrusts, one that matched the throbbing bass beat of the music. Ripper's hands came to rest on Ethan's hips, holding him close as he continued to fuck Ethan in time to the music. They were dancing again, only with Ripper's cock buried deep in him.

Ethan wondered vaguely if it was possible to die from too much sensation. The tiny part of him that remained capable of thought couldn't quite believe that this was happening. Around them, close enough to reach out and touch, men danced. A hundred strangers moved in complex patterns about the dance floor, while in the centre of them all, Ripper thrust hard into Ethan's arse.

In time to sodding Suzie Quatro of all people.

Ripper's husky chuckle blew warm breath against Ethan's ear. "How long do you think we can keep this dance going?"

God, Ripper wanted words from him? Thinking rather than saying, Ethan tried his best to answer. _'More. Lots more. Want more.'_

"You always want more," Ripper replied out loud with fond affection. As the beat changed, he added a slight circular movement to his hips as he moved in and out of Ethan's body, and Ethan stopped trying to think with words at all. He just lost himself in the experience of being taken, body and soul. Time and the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them and the music carrying them along.

Oh God, Ethan was floating somewhere. His body was in one place, awash with magic and sensation, but he was somewhere else, somewhere high, still, and bright. It felt like Heaven, quite literally. If Heaven existed, surely this was the kind of discorporate bliss it would involve. Ripper was with him, inside him, part of him. They were one.

Ethan had never known such a purity of contentment.

Nothing could last forever, and after a timeless period, Ethan felt a tugging upon him. He became aware that he was somehow looking down. He was looking at himself from above, and at Ripper moving behind him, Ripper's hand wrapped around Ethan's cock.

The tugging increased, and sound returned, the music and the noise of his heavy breathing. Ripper was close to coming, Ethan realised, and so it seemed was he.

Suddenly, he was slammed violently back into his body as Ripper thrust him back against the support column, fucking him hard and fast for a few more seconds until they both came. The sensation seemed brutally real after the gentle bliss Ethan had been floating within.

As the shudders faded from his body, Ethan felt his legs buckle. Rupert held him up, braced against the column. It seemed very quiet all of sudden, in spite of the music and crowds around them; Ethan gradually realised it was because Rupert's thoughts were no longer in his mind.

As overwhelming as having Rupert in his head had been, losing him again left Ethan feeling bereft and lost. Panicking a little, he reached out with his magic to check his spell, scared it had lost coherency whilst he'd been living it up on cloud nine. But it was still intact; no one but those specifically looking for the two of them in that spot would notice their dishevelled states.

Ethan became aware that he was shaking.

Rupert seemed to become aware of it at the same time. He murmured reassurances into Ethan's ear, pulling back long enough to get them both more or less put back together. Then he turned Ethan around to face him and pulled him back into his arms.

Ethan clung. He was fighting back tears; simply a reaction to the intensity of what they'd just done, and not a sign of any specific emotion. "Rupert..."

Rupert nuzzled his cheek gently. "Dancing seems to have changed some since the old days," he teased.

"I... oh. Outside?"

Rupert nodded, and they headed for the door, Rupert keeping an arm around Ethan the entire way.

Out in the street, Ethan leant back against the wall of the tavern and tried to recover his wits. "Rupert, I... I was... not... I... So high. Looking..." He wasn't being particularly successful so far.

As Rupert pressed gently against him, holding him up as much as anything else, a drolly amused voice from the club door said, "Popped one happy pill too many, has he?" It was one of the security blokes.

"It was a bit too much of a spiritual experience for him," Rupert replied shortly, most of his attention quite obviously focused on Ethan.

"You should get him home and let him sleep it off then," the man sounded concerned in a detached kind of way.

Ethan touched Rupert's chest, feeling its solidity and drawing on it emotionally. He struggled to put a coherent sentence together. "I'm okay. Home sounds... good."

"Yes, it does," Rupert agreed softly, the words a verbal caress. "Shall we start back there?"

Ethan nodded, and laughed a little raggedly as he said, "I think I'm... back inside enough to walk." He got a slightly confused look for that comment, but Rupert just nodded and slid an arm around Ethan's waist as they started down the pavement towards the nearest tube station.

Ethan remained quiet for a while, but he was feeling increasingly restored to himself. After they had entered the station and made their way to the platform, he said quietly. "I miss you."

Rupert brushed the back of his free hand against Ethan's cheek. "It was quite an... intense connection," he agreed.

"It felt... like you were in every cell... no. No, it was more than that."

"You seemed to go away for a bit there, during..." Rupert said. "You were _there_ still, but you weren't." He shook his head ruefully. "I think we may need some new vocabulary to discuss this."

"Or just a different way of communicating."

The underground train rolled into the station, and the pair entered the carriage together with a couple of other people who had been waiting on the platform with them. Rupert guided Ethan to seats at the back of the carriage, and they sat down. Ethan found himself staring up at an ad for a building society, which seemed, surreally, to be comparing its customers to soft fruit.

"The world seems odder than usual," he commented.

"Indeed." Rupert chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. "Dear lord, we just shagged in the middle of a crowded dance floor. Even in the old days, we never reached that level of boldness."

"Er, no," Ethan agreed, the extent of what they'd just done finally hitting home. "Oh God..." He ran his fingers through his hair and leant forward, staring down at the ridged flooring. The train stopped at a station, and the doors opened. Two people got out of the carriage, and one got on. The doors shut, and on they went. "I'm sorry," he said a little wretchedly.

"For what?" Rupert asked bluntly, letting his hand rest on Ethan's thigh, "Just because I never would have imagined performing thusly, doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it. It was a rather... sublime experience."

Ethan looked up at him nervously. "I seem to remember forcing the issue somewhat"

Rupert smiled wryly. "There wasn't much force needed."

"I used... I tweaked you." Ethan couldn't help but chuckle at his wording, but the laughter soon faded.

"I know, love."

"Oh." Ethan looked down again, not sure what to make of that. He was quiet for a while.

The train stopped again, more people disembarked, and nobody got on. There were only a couple of others left in the carriage now – a tall black man sitting quite close to them and looking with an indeterminable expression at Rupert's hand on Ethan's thigh, and a small figure at the far end of the car wearing an anorak with its hood up.

Ethan sat up straight and moved close enough to Rupert's ear to be able to talk with no chance at all of being overheard. "You were inside me, dearheart... in my mind... I... It was overwhelming."

Rupert tilted his head to meet Ethan's eyes. "That's the first time you've dealt with telepathy?" Ethan nodded, and Rupert went on. "I've a bit of experience with it with Willow. She's the only witch or mage I've ever encountered with enough power to do so easily. I never thought it would be among my own abilities." He smiled wryly, "Although this is an entirely different sensation than that was."

"A good sensation?"

"With you?" The smile grew affectionate. "Very good."

The tall man opposite stood up, and Ethan watched surreptitiously, wondering if there was going to be trouble, but instead the man walked to the sliding doors, and when the train pulled to a halt again, he got off. A bunch of loud young girls got on, but sat away from the pair. Ethan snuggled a little closer to his husband. "It... you... everything, it sent me somewhere. I suppose you could say I had an out of body experience."

"Ah. That would explain it."

Ethan studied Rupert. "What was it like for you?"

Rupert's eyes grew a bit distant with memory. "Good. Intense. You were... everywhere, everything. And the music just made it all... It was like the music was part of it, and we were part of each other." He met Ethan's gaze again. "But I stayed quite firmly in my body."

"Someone needed to, I suppose," Ethan said thoughtfully with a slight frown. He'd wanted –no, needed– Rupert to be in control, but had that denied him the same bliss that Ethan had experienced?

"I think I can see why you've been so enamoured of dancing," Rupert teased, obviously trying to lighten the conversation a little.

"It's more tiring than I remember," Ethan replied with a small grin. He lay his head on Rupert's shoulder and shut his eyes for a while. He was aware of the train stopping and starting as it passed through more stations, and of Rupert, strong and solid at his side, but little else.

When he sensed they must be close to home, he opened his eyes again and straightened up. The carriage was empty now bar the small anoraked person at the back and a very tall thin man opposite them who looked like he should have played basketball when he was younger. His face was tanned and deeply wizened in the way white people's tended to get when they'd lived for too many years in the tropics. He was staring at Ethan and smiled slightly when Ethan's eyes met his.

Ethan frowned.

"What?" Rupert asked, mostly under his breath, obviously having felt the slight tensing in Ethan's form.

He put his hand on Rupert's leg and squeezed meaningfully. "Next stop is ours, my dear," he said lightly.

It wasn't, but Ethan felt a strong desire to get away from the man opposite who felt menacing and all too familiar to Ethan's senses. The stranger virtually reeked of Chaos.

Rupert's gaze sharpened, and he glanced briefly at the stranger. "So it is," he replied, covering Ethan's hand with his own and squeezing back, letting Ethan feel the power that was ready to be used if necessary.

They stood, even though the train was not yet slowing for a station. And as they moved, they began to weave protection around themselves automatically, working together by unspoken consensus. As they started to walk to the doors, the stranger spoke, with the grating voice of a heavy smoker.

"That's a cute trick, but I'm afraid I can't let you go." Unable to leave the carriage anyway until the train stopped and doors opened, Ethan flicked a glance at the tall withered man and saw that he was now standing. _"Retexe!"_ the stranger said, and flung something small, black and animated at the pair.

_"Consiste!"_ Rupert barked out immediately, raising one hand and halting the object in mid-air.

It seemed to be a ball of living Chaos. Ethan shuddered at its proximity, simultaneously drawn to it and strongly repelled. He concentrated on building and maintaining the patterns of defence around them, confident that Rupert would take care of the more aggressive magic needs.

_"Perge,"_ croaked out the Chaos mage, and the black writhing ball inched a little closer. _"Retexe!"_ he said again, after pulling something from his pocket. He threw another identical ball towards them.

_"Consiste!"_ Rupert said again, with more authority in his voice, his arm jerking slightly as the power he was using surged. The two black balls were both now halted and even moved back towards their attacker by a bare inch.

_"Sustine."_ The Chaos mage smiled, his teeth alarmingly white against his sallow skin. His hand went back into his pocket, and made aware by some instinct, Ethan shouted a wordless warning, moving in front of Rupert, pushing him back a few steps. The mage's hand re-emerged and chucked something hard at the carriage floor. "_Retexe!"_

Metal buckled and twisted, and Ethan caught a glimpse of the mechanisms and track beneath the train through a newly created hole before he was knocked back to the carriage floor behind him, falling into Rupert on the way, and inevitably interrupting his concentration. Rupert tried to twist around to get a hand up to stop the two balls he'd had immobilised, but was too late.

The balls hit Ethan's pattern-enhanced shields, spreading out in inky rivulets of black Chaos, which seemed to obey neither gravity nor sense. Ethan felt his careful patterns corrupting and twisting as the Chaos energy ate its way through. The shields fell, and he gasped.

He scrambled up, kneeling between Rupert and the hole in the floor, and struggled to reform the barriers again before another attack could be made. But the Chaos mage was already digging in his pocket again.

One by one, the mage produced more of the black Chaos balls, launching them towards Ethan and Rupert.

With a quickly shouted _"Consiste!"_ Rupert caught the first ball, halting it in mid-air. He caught the second as well, and the third, and fourth.

By the fifth, he was starting to sweat.

Ethan couldn't spare the time to help. The detonated Chaos balls had done something to the patterns around him. They had become unnaturally mutable, dissipating whenever he tried to touch them with his power and reforming in other shapes. He continued desperately to try to tweak their defences back into existence, but nothing would stay the way he put it, not here in the Chaos fall-out zone.

"We have to get off this bloody train," he growled through gritted teeth.

"I think not," said the Chaos magician, and with a smirk that reminded Ethan a little too much of his own, the man raised his hand and threw two writhing black balls directly at him.

"No!" Rupert shouted, giving a huge 'shove' to the balls he'd been holding back, sending them flying to the far side of the carriage, at the same time tackling Ethan flat to the floor, putting his body between Ethan and the two balls hurtling towards him.

The carriage walls rippled and broke where the balls hit them, but Ethan could spare no time to observe the phenomenon. The balls intended for him hit Rupert's back, and Ethan was struck by appalling terror as he watched agony distort Rupert's face, He could sense the raw Chaos swarming through Rupert's body, ripping him apart.

"No, oh God, Ripper, no!" In white-minded panic, Ethan moved to his knees and poured his power into Rupert's wracked and bleeding frame, holding the man together through sheer willpower. He knew the patterns of Rupert's body almost better than he knew his own. He didn't have to think about how to twist them back to what they should be, he just did it, instinctually drawing power from any sources his magic could find.

And then did it again because, as with the barriers, nothing would stay the way Ethan put it.

"You can't save him," claimed the mage, who was carefully stepping around the hole in the floor. "I mean, in time, and free from the pleasantly Chaotic atmosphere here, I'm sure you could, but what do you really think the chances are of me giving you that time, hmm?"

Ethan didn't waste energy replying to the bastard, he was using almost everything he had just stopping Rupert from falling to pieces under his hands. But he spared just the tiniest feather of awareness for the mage now standing before him. Probing with infinitesimal delicacy into the git's body.

"He will die," The mage crowed. "And you will be left like the one before you, a wild mare with no saddle, no rider to hold the reins."

"Maybe," Ethan conceded, tears running down his cheeks. "But you won't see it." He twisted his magic in the man's heart, having sensed the pattern of a potential heart attack. It might not have been due to happen for years yet, but Ethan made it happen now.

The mage clutched his chest, his long frame folding over. "No..." he groaned through gritted teeth, _"Recrea--"._

Not prepared to give the bastard a chance to heal himself, Ethan rose and shoved hard at the man, sending him screaming through the hole in the floor and into the moving machinery below. The scream was cut off abruptly and blood and bits of flesh splattered up through the hole, hitting Ethan.

He told himself he didn't care.

He laid himself down over his broken husband and closed his eyes, going deep within himself to at least maintain the level of physical integrity he'd managed to restore for Rupert so far, hopefully mending more.

He was aware of the train stopping and cries of horror and concern around him. Eventually, people tried to move him away from Rupert, and he threw them back with a wave of power. The confusion around him only increased until someone had the sense to move them together, and as one, they were lifted out of the mangled carriage and carried from the station.

As soon as they were away from the Chaos fall-out, Ethan 's magic stopped needing constant concentration. Things stayed where he put them. But too much of the damage was already fixed in the timeline and beyond Ethan's ability to heal with his type of magic.

He didn't know if what he was doing was really helping anymore. He didn't know if Rupert would ever wake again. He just knew that he had to keep doing it until he had nothing left to give. For without Rupert Giles, Ethan was nothing at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Ethan was so exhausted that he couldn't move his head. He was sat in a hard plastic chair by Rupert's hospital bed, his upper body lying over his unconscious husband, who was pale and bandaged and attached to numerous tubes and monitor wires.

Ethan was still groggily trying to feed the dregs of his magic into Rupert's body, cleansing it of any residual Chaos energies and trying pointlessly to mend flesh it was far too late for him to mend. He had a vague memory of Kat telling him that the Coven healers had been summoned and were driving up from Devon. Other memories told him that the Council had posted guards outside this private room and surreptitiously conjured wards around the door.

Everything else people had said to him seemed to have gone from his mind; Ethan just couldn't focus on anything beyond the deadening terror consuming him inside – Rupert might never wake up.

Might die.

Ethan might be alone again – a 'riderless mare' to use the metaphor of the man he'd killed yesterday, the man who had done this to Rupert. And all because Rupert had taken the poison bullets meant for Ethan.

"What did you say?" he croaked out to the person behind him. He knew someone had said something, but beyond that, he hadn't taken it in.

"You should get some rest," Xander repeated patiently. Ethan groggily realised that it wasn't just the second or even the third time that the man had said the same thing, in the same patient, gentle voice that he'd been using with Ethan since this had happened. "He won't be alone, I promise." Xander reached out and laid a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "I'll sit with him."

"No. Not leaving him."

"Yeah, I sorta figured you were going to say that." Xander sighed and sat down in the other plastic chair.

"Running out." Ethan vaguely realised the two words were ambiguous. "I'm running out. Of power." He'd run out hours ago really; stealing from his own lifeforce instead. "Did Kat... the healers? Devon?"

"They're on their way. Kat said they said they'd be here by morning." Xander hesitated and then asked awkwardly, "Could you use me? For power, I mean. Like a... battery or something?"

Ethan tried to shake his head, but he doubted the movement was noticeable. "Would hurt you. Too dangerous."

"But you could do it? And it would help?"

"Could. Might."

Xander held out his hand to Ethan. "Then do it. Giles is... Well, he'd do the same for me without even thinking about it."

Ethan didn't argue any further. He twisted on the bed to roughly face Xander and took his hand tightly, drawing on the lifeforce that the fit young body contained. He'd done this before, in his murky past. His sources had been willing then as well, more or less, but it had been for very different purposes.

He felt Xander jolt, but Ethan didn't let go. He took everything that it was safe to take and a little more, feeding it into Rupert's body, boosting Rupert's own drained supply.

Xander's eye was wide and his skin pale under his tan when Ethan finally released his hand. "That was–" He broke off as if he wasn't sure what to say, clearing his throat before he spoke again. "Did it help?"

"Maybe. Nothing will help if..." Ethan couldn't make himself say it.

"He'll wake up," Xander said sharply. "He's always woken up." He met Ethan's gaze steadily. "And he's got more to come back to now than he ever had back in Sunnydale."

So drained was Ethan that it took him many moments to realise what Xander meant. When he did, he gave the man a ragged smile. "You should... it'll take a few days... It's like giving blood, you see. Try to eat well. Plenty of fluids."

"Cookies and OJ work just as well for donating energy as donating blood, huh?" Xander gave a grin that managed to look perfectly natural and stood up. "Though actually I think coffee would be more what the doctor ordered. Do you want me to bring you back a cup?"

"Tea. Tea would be good." Ethan moved his face around, burying it in the starched covers. His arm was still thrown over Rupert, rising and falling with his husband's slow breaths.

"Right. English person. Tea. Should've known. One cuppa coming up," Xander said with false brightness as he headed out of the room.

"Thank you," Ethan managed, but the door was already shut again.

He wanted to crawl onto the bed and lie with Rupert, but he'd only end up pulling some vital tube out. He wanted desperately to sleep, but he wouldn't, couldn't, let himself. He had to stay here, pumping every last drop of available magic into Rupert, wringing himself dry, in case that last minute flicker of power was the one that woke Rupert up.

Ethan felt so cold.

It was normally stiflingly hot in hospitals, but he felt like he'd been sitting in snow. His limbs were numb and heavy, and he felt quite sure nails could be driven through his hands and he'd feel nothing. He had drained his own cells of energy to feed Rupert, and his body really wasn't coping. But it didn't matter what happened to his body now, if Rupert didn't wake.

Lucy had told them that there would come a time when Rupert and Ethan became so bonded that one couldn't survive without the other. Ethan had known then that said time, for him at least, was pretty much there already. Without Rupert, he would be half a person. He couldn't survive alone.

"Ripper..." he whispered into the sheets. "Please don't leave me again."

_'Can't get rid of me that easily.' _Rupert's voice echoed in Ethan's mind.

Had he imagined that? Was it real? Ethan, with sudden, adrenaline-fuelled energy, twisted around to look up urgently at Rupert's face. The features he loved far better than his own remained passive, the eyes shut. Almost sobbing with disappointment, Ethan nonetheless refused to give up. He spoke and thought forcefully, "Rupert?" while rubbing Rupert's hand vigorously.

_'You were expecting someone else in your mind?'_ The hand under Ethan's moved, slowly turning over to grasp onto Ethan's fingers weakly.

"I thought I was imagining it..." Ethan still was half-convinced that he was. "Oh God, Rupert..." He clasped his free hand over his mouth, trying to stop the desperate sobs of relief from emerging.

Rupert's eyes finally flickered open, and although they were glassy with pain and drugs, they were aware. He continued speaking with his thoughts, however. _'You look terrible, love.'_

"I... I..." Ethan couldn't speak through the sobs, and his thoughts weren't coherent enough to answer Rupert that way. All he could do was reach out with a shaking hand to touch Rupert's face, as if confirming that he was really there.

Slowly, gingerly, as if testing each movement before making it, Rupert raised his arm, inviting Ethan into his embrace with a barely audible, "Come here," in a voice that was as rough as broken glass.

Pushing aside the drip tube hanging from Rupert's wrist, Ethan moved up the bed, half getting on it, to take the comfort Rupert offered. He was very careful not to touch the areas of Rupert's body that he knew were still badly damaged despite everything Ethan had tried.

Rupert enfolded him in an embrace as well as he could. To communicate, he went back to thoughts. _'You weren't hurt?'_

Ethan had done nothing but hurt since the mage had attacked them, but he shook his head. "I'm fine."

He felt more than heard Rupert's sigh of relief at that. _'Good.'_

_'You stupid, selfish bastard.'_ It had just been a thought, but Ethan knew with appalling certainty that Rupert had heard it.

_'I won't apologise,'_ Rupert replied, seeming to know exactly what Ethan was feeling and why. _'I can't stand by and watch you get hurt or... worse. It's not in me.'_

_'Don't you understand?' _Ethan beseeched him mentally._ 'Losing you would be the greatest hurt I could ever receive.'_

_'You didn't lose me,' _Rupert pointed out._ 'You saved me like I saved you.' _Rupert's gaze bore into his own. "It was the only way both of us could have made it," he said aloud in a rumbling whisper.

There was unarguable truth there; Ethan knew it as soon as he heard it. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I... I killed him," he admitted quietly. "I'm not sorry. I'd do it again."

"Good." Rupert ran fingers through Ethan's hair soothingly. "Saves me having to hunt him down and do it myself."

Ethan nuzzled against Rupert's shoulder. "Jonah and Mary are coming. I couldn't... I did my best, but..." He was so tired. He just wanted to fall asleep in Rupert's arms now that he was back. "Thank you for not leaving me."

He was drifting off to sleep when he heard Rupert reply, "Thank you for not letting me go."

***

It had been quite a strange sensation, Giles thought, staring at the ceiling as he took inner stock. Most of what he remembered of being injured was pain, but that wasn't everything. He remembered feeling his body starting to melt apart under the influence of the dark Chaos, and he remembered Ethan's magic surging through him, healing the damage as soon as it happened. Holding him together.

Holding him here.

He looked down at Ethan, half-draped over him and fast asleep. It was an awkward position, and Ethan was sure to be stiff when he woke up, but Giles couldn't bring himself to disturb him.

He wasn't sure if it was because of the drugs that he was certain were dripping into his system from the IV attached to him, or some lingering effect of the Chaos attack, but Giles didn't feel entirely secure in his body. His connection to the physical seemed more tenuous than it had been since... Well, since Willow had stolen his magic and his life energy. It wasn't life threatening this time; he knew what that felt like, and thanks to Ethan, this was nowhere near that bad, but it was certainly disconcerting to feel as if he would float right out of his body with the smallest of nudges.

It made Ethan's warm sleeping weight against his chest all the more welcome; his presence and touch anchoring Giles in the here and now until the connections could fully heal.

The door to the small room opened quietly. Giles watched as Xander walked in, balancing various comestibles in his hands. After shutting the door with his arse, Xander looked over at the bed. When he saw that Giles was awake, a huge smile broke on his face, and he hurried over.

"Typical. I leave the room for just a few minutes, and it's then that you decide to wake up."

"Yes, I was just waiting for you to leave before opening my eyes," Giles replied, his voice sounding weak and strange to his own ears.

Xander put down the various things he was carrying on a cabinet top, then walked around to the other side of the bed from Ethan. "How are you feeling?" he asked gently, studying Giles' face. "Has a doctor seen you yet?" Xander looked pale, Giles noticed.

Giles shook his head rather gingerly, having to think for a second on how to perform the action before he managed it. "Don't want a bunch of medical personnel swarming around me and pushing the really important people aside. Not yet."

Xander nodded, a little uncertainly. "There's a Council-approved health team out there just waiting on your word to spring into proddy, pokey action. He asleep?" Xander nodded at Ethan.

"Yes," Giles said softly, looking down at Ethan again. "He just about wore himself out keeping me here."

"Ah well, that's one 'cuppa' that won't be drunk then." Xander smiled wryly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "He's, uh, well, let me put it this way. I won't be worrying that he means you no good anymore."

Giles smiled a little at that. "Something positive has come out of this then."

Xander's lips twisted in acknowledgement. "You still haven't told me how you're feeling."

"Like I got caught in a whirlwind of kitchen cutlery and have since been shot up with a large number of painkillers," he said wryly.

"Are they working? The drugs?"

"As I'm not screaming in pain from having my body ripped apart and put back together again, I'd say they're working very well."

Xander cringed. "What happened? Do you remember? Ethan wasn't very, uh... Well, he was a little single-minded, y'know?"

"Yes, I suppose he would be," Giles said softly, moving his fingers in Ethan's hair. He took a breath, pleased that it didn't catch or wheeze. "We were attacked by a dark Chaos mage. He wasn't forthcoming with explanations of why; perhaps it was as simple as testing himself against mages of different disciplines. His weapons of choice were... Well, the best description would be grenades of dark Chaos. When they went off, whatever they hit was devoured by Chaos, instant entropy. I managed to deflect most of them to the other side of the train carriage, but some got through."

Xander's expression was very serious. "Could he, uh, have known Ethan from the bad old days? Maybe had a grudge about Ethan walking the gay and narrow now?"

Giles shook his head. "Ethan didn't know him."

Xander's gaze fell onto Ethan's head. "The train car you were in was a wreck. The Council cover-up squad is stretched as thin as a very thin thing. From what I can work out, Ethan was using magic wildly to stop people separating you. Once they stopped trying, having decided enough was enough with the concussions, I guess, he managed to get it together enough to have them call Pamela."

"And Pamela took control?" Giles smiled. "I'll have to make sure she gets a raise." He glanced down at Ethan again. "He fought to stay with me because at the time his magic was all that was keeping me alive."

"Yeah, I kinda got that." Xander stood and walked back around to the cabinet where he drank something from a plastic cup. "Pamela's behind the smooth operation that is now surrounding you. Uh, not that you'd know that as part of the whole smooth thing is not having you bothered by it all. And if you make me regret telling you all that by trying to do organise-y things now from your bed, well, they're not feeding you enough of the good stuff down that tube."

"How long was I unconscious?" Giles asked with a frown, just realising then that he had no idea.

"Coming up on twenty-four hours." Xander opened a mars bar and bit in. After some chewing, he said, "I really ought to spread the good news, Giles. There's some very worried people outside. Uh, you're not gonna fall apart or anything now that Ethan's asleep are you?"

"No, the dark Chaos has run its course." He shifted a little, finding it easier to do than he had feared. "All things considered, I feel surprisingly good."

"Hungry?" Xander asked, offering his half-eaten chocolate bar, then clearly thinking better of the gesture and waving at the various packets on the cabinet. "There's lukewarm tea. Mmm, lukewarm tea. What Englishman worth his salt could resist that?" He grinned at Giles.

Giles found himself smiling back; Xander's personality was irrepressible. "I may deny this later, but I've missed having you around."

Xander walked forward a couple of steps and patted Giles' arm where it rested over the top of Ethan. "I'm just glad you're still around to do the soon-to-be-denied missing."

***

"I'm not a sodding cripple," Ethan groused as Megan tried to help him down the stairs from the hospital front door. "I just slept badly." He pulled his arm away from her and walked stiffly down the steps.

"I promised Giles I'd keep an eye on you," Megan said, stubbornly taking Ethan's arm again.

He flashed the Slayer an annoyed look. "I've agreed to you driving. Isn't that enough?"

"It would be, if you weren't so pale you're almost transparent."

Ethan sighed deeply and surrendered, letting the girl help him across the car park as if he were a geriatric patient going home for a visit. He knew he must look terrible; he certainly felt it. He'd need to sleep for days to recover the resources drained from him, but that didn't matter. Only Rupert mattered.

Megan had borrowed Ethan's own Council car for the privilege of driving him home. She hadn't had her British license long so he was looking forward to a nervous trip through London for both of them. A taxi would've probably been wiser, but both the girls were desperate to help, and so he'd agreed.

Megan helped him in, fussing unnecessarily at his seatbelt, before going around and getting behind the wheel. She was quiet as she buckled herself in and started the ignition, putting the car in gear and heading for the car park exit.

"Oh," said Ethan quietly, feeling a little dismayed.

"Oh?" Megan took her eyes off the road for a brief second to glance at him.

He gave her a raw look. "I feel like I've left something very important behind."

Her expression softened, and she reached out to pat his arm. "Only because the something very important told you to go home and get some sleep. He'll still be there when you come back."

"I should have stayed. I'm so used to obeying him when he uses that voice." Which probably wasn't the wisest of things to be sharing, but Ethan trusted Megan.

"He does have that commanding Head Watcher thing down, even in a hospital bed," Megan agreed.

Ethan wrapped his arms around himself and sat quietly for a while, leaning against the side window and trying hard not to feel anything very much. He realised his depression was a side effect of how thoroughly he had drained himself keeping Rupert alive and that he shouldn't really listen to anything his emotions told him currently.

Megan negotiated Sunday afternoon traffic through Central London with far more confidence than he'd been expecting. Once they were on a longer stretch of road, he asked her, "Did it bring back bad memories for you? The hospital?"

"You mean from when I was hurt?" Megan shook her head. "It's easier being the one that's injured."

"I'll take your word for it," Ethan said with a little laugh, which quickly faded. "Has this been hard for you and Kat?"

"It's hard when people you love are hurt." She thought about it for a minute. "I think it's easier for Kat; she just goes into super healer mode. She has something she can do to help."

Ethan reached out and patted her shoulder. "You've helped too. You're helping now. And when we get in, you're going to help some more because you're going to cook for me." He managed to summon up something approaching a cheeky grin.

Megan grinned back, her own just a little bit shaky. "Do you have numbers of the local delivery places? Just in case?"

"Yes, but as all I want is just a huge fry up, I'm sure you'll be fine. The more saturated fat and cholesterol the better."

She wrinkled her nose. "Ew."

Ethan laughed, and it was a genuine laugh. "Oh, don't go all Californian on me now. Do I really look as if a little extra fat is going to hurt me?"

"You have a point."

"And it won't hurt you either, not with your frame and Slayer constitution. So no more ew-ing. I speak here as your Watcher, of course. I expect obedience."

"Yes, Ethan," Megan said meekly enough, although she seemed to have developed a tic at the corner of her mouth.

He smiled, but then looked down, Rupert's absence hitting him again with renewed pain. Rupert was doing well. The Coven healers had arrived, and it had been made abundantly clear that Rupert worrying about Ethan was a hindrance to his recovery. Ethan wasn't needed there so he'd agreed to leave, but being away from Rupert hurt.

Closing back in on himself, Ethan returned to silence for the rest of the journey, only stirring as Megan struggled a little to park outside their front door. "You're not making the most of the power-steering, dear."

"Car's bigger than I'm used to," she muttered absently as she wrestled it into the parking spot.

Obediently, and maybe because he felt tired enough to believe he really needed it, Ethan waited for Megan to come round to his door and help him out of the car. He unlocked the front door, and Megan tried to urge him inside, but Ethan stared glumly into the house that didn't contain Rupert and stayed frozen on the doorstep. "Take me back."

Megan frowned then stepped around him into the house. She turned back to him and took his hands in hers, tugging gently. "At least let me cook you some fatty high cholesterol food first. If you still want to go back after that, I'll take you."

Very reluctantly, he allowed himself to be pulled in and helped over to the sofa where he more or less crumpled into one side of it, pulling his legs up under him. Megan hesitated halfway between the kitchen and him and finally came back over, sitting down on the sofa beside him and hugging him.

"He's going to be just fine."

"This time," Ethan said bleakly, immediately wishing he could take the words back.

Megan was silent for a long moment, watching him. "When I got hurt," she finally said, "when it first happened, I thought about it happening it again, how I would handle it and what would happen if I wasn't so lucky a second time. But the thoughts, the fear... it got better."

Ethan didn't reply, not wanting to infect the Slayer with his pessimism. The future didn't look very rosy to him. Death was inevitable for them all, and the chances were that it would be sooner rather than later for one or more of them.

"Giles isn't going to leave you," Megan told him. "He didn't this time; he isn't in the future."

"There should be everything you need in the fridge," Ethan said after further silence. "Bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms... oh, and I think there's some hashbrowns in the freezer."

Megan sighed and got up. She paused though at the kitchen door. "Do you really think you should be mourning him when he's going to be fine?"

"Ouch," he replied succinctly. He curled up more tightly and closed his eyes.

With another sigh, Megan disappeared into the kitchen.

***

Giles watched Megan shepherd Ethan out of his room and couldn't stop the irrational stab of guilt at sending him away. Ethan needed a break away from this, needed rest and sustenance and a chance to recharge. But the look on Ethan's face when he'd told him to go... Well, Giles felt like a bully.

"Are you in pain?" Kat asked, concerned. Jonah and Mary had left temporarily to restore their energies somewhat with lunch in the hospital canteen, so Giles was alone now with the Slayer. She took his wrist and began to check his pulse.

Giles smiled at her actions; Kat had been helping out the healers and had developed quite a professional demeanour when it came to these sorts of things. "I'm as comfortable as could be expected," he reassured her. "I'm just worried about Ethan."

Kat nodded. "He looks kinda bad. Jonah said that he, um, used too much of himself."

"He used everything he had," Giles said softly.

She looked sharply at him. "Will he get it back?"

"Oh yes," he said quickly. "With enough time and rest. And if I can stop him from continuing to feed me energy."

"He doesn't need to now that Jonah and Mary are here, does he? I'm glad Megan's with him." She let go of his wrist and made a note on a clipboard the healers had bought with them. Then she flicked through the pages. "Jeez, Giles. That Chaos guy really... " She stopped, clearly upset for all that she was trying to maintain a professional air.

"Yes, he did." He reached out for her hand, squeezing it lightly. "But I'm going to be fine."

"Your leg..."

Giles stopped himself from glancing down at the heavily bandaged limb, but only barely. "That will take a bit longer to recover than the rest of me," he admitted.

Ethan's pattern-restoration based healing had concentrated on the life-threatening injuries in Giles' head and torso, and by the time the Chaos had gone from Giles' body, the ripped up flesh of his leg was too established for Ethan to be able to even start mending it.

Kat smiled a little shakily at him. "We'll have to get you a really neat walking stick. Like with a sword inside it or something."

"Actually, I think I might have one of those squirreled away somewhere. Bought more for the sword than the walking stick, but definitely usable." He tried to keep his voice light and the subject less serious in an effort to cheer Kat. Giles was under no illusions however about the fact that it was going to be a long and painful road back to having full use of his leg again.

"Shame we can't magically transfer you some of our Slayer healing," she said, putting the clipboard down. "We wished we'd known it was possible to donate lifeforce like Xander did; Megan and me would both have volunteered."

Giles froze. "Xander did what?" The man's unnatural pallor was suddenly making more sense.

"Uh, oops?" Kat smiled worriedly. "I thought you knew."

"No." And Giles knew why the information had been kept from him; it had been a damned fool thing to do. What Ethan had been doing had been dangerous enough, but the risks involved in sharing lifeforce were just too high for a non-magic user. "I never would have allowed it if I'd been awake."

"Oh." Kat sat down on the edge of the bed and looked earnestly at Giles. "Don't be angry with him? He was really happy to have been able to help, and you woke up like immediately afterwards so it was good really, wasn't it?"

"A successful outcome doesn't lessen the chance he took." But he softened his voice and expression a little as he added, "I am grateful though."

"He told us a bit about other times you've been hurt."

Giles twisted his mouth in wry amusement. "I did have a distressing habit of getting hit on the head when I was in America. At least I managed to avoid that this time."

She frowned, but didn't say anything, instead looking down and playing with the edge of the sheet.

"Kat?" Reaching out, Giles took her hand.

"It's just it's all so... dangerous, isn't it? I mean, first there was Megan. Now this. And there's been lots of other 'this's that I didn't know about. And there's Xander's eye. Giles, I..." She looked at him a little helplessly, but then added. "I shouldn't be talking to you about this. Not 'til you're better. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing wrong with my mind," Giles pointed out, trying to urge her to continue. Judging by what Ethan had told him in Devon, something had been bothering Kat for a while, and if this had brought her to the point she could articulate it, then it wasn't all bad.

She stared at him with big worried eyes. Eventually, she said, "I'm not sure I wanna be a part of this anymore. Not from the same side of things anyway. I kinda talked to Ethan about it before, but... Well, I guess I didn't really have any alternatives then like I do now."

It wasn't unexpected; people getting injured seemed to affect Kat more than it did others. "If you could do anything you wanted, what would you choose?" he asked.

The answer came quickly and was said with confidence. "I'd like to study with Mary and Jonah. I want to become a healer."

Giles smiled; he'd have been surprised if she had answered any other way. "I think you'd be very good at it." She didn't look as happy as he'd hoped at his accepting praise. Luckily, he'd been making tentative plans for this sort of situation since he started rebuilding the Council. It looked like it might be time to put them into effect. "I'd like to make you a proposition, Katherine," he said formally.

Her eyes widened. "Proposition?"

He nodded. "I've been meaning to see what we could do about giving Slayers a chance at... specialisation -- if they want. Would you be willing to be my guinea pig?"

"Uh, maybe? What would it involve?"

"You go to Devon and train with Jonah and Mary, and perhaps, in a year or so, go to university to study medicine. The Council will cover all of your costs. But you also have to keep up some level of Slayer training. Ultimately, you'll be a new type of Slayer. If the typical Slayer is a soldier, then you'd be the medic assigned to the platoon."

Giles found himself fighting not to wince as Kat's hand tightened around his with Slayer strength. "Are you serious?"

"I'm very serious," he told her. "We need to create a whole new way of organising Slayers, and we have to start somewhere. This would be the ideal place to start."

She relaxed her grip, apparently realising it was too hard. "Giles, I... I can't imagine anything I'd like more. Thank you! I didn't want to go back to America and leave you guys, but my parents couldn't afford to keep me here without the Council funding. Oh, this is so cool!"

Giles smiled. "I'm glad to see you're so enthusiastic about it." He felt a great deal of satisfaction; flat on his back in a hospital bed, and he'd managed to take the first important step to make real changes. Of course, he still had an uphill battle getting it made official Council policy, but it was a battle that his current physical condition shouldn't hamper. He found himself actually looking forward to it.

Kat's eyes were wide and sparkling, and she waved her hands around excitedly, appearing, just for those few seconds, to be younger than her seventeen years. "Oh, I can't wait to tell Megan. And Xander too."

"I'll talk to Jonah and Mary, and see what we can arrange." He paused and warned, "It may take a bit of time to set up, but we will get you the training you need."


	6. Chapter 6

_The door to Ethan's cell opened, and soldiers marched in. He didn't open his eyes; he could tell they were soldiers by the tread of their boots, and anyway, the scientists never came down here; he was always brought to them. _

_The soldiers didn't say anything to him; they never did. They just grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. They didn't even bother with manacles these days; blatant proof that they didn't consider him a threat anymore, not since the daily draining sessions had begun. _

_They dragged him from the cell, not even giving him the chance to try to walk under his own steam, which was probably just as well as he strongly suspected that he couldn't. The corridor lights hurt his eyes, and he screwed them tightly shut._

_He didn't want to be doing this again, not that his wants had any relevance here. But the days they decided to take him out of his cell were lowlights in a dismal calendar of pain and depression. It meant that they were going to be experimenting on him again; an activity they never seemed to tire of despite, he was sure, learning everything there was to learn about the way he worked a long time ago._

_The guards dragged him down the corridor, halting in front of the elevator. Ethan heard the by-now familiar sounds of one of them punching the code in. The doors opened, and the guards pulled him forward... then shoved_

_Ethan fell to the floor, pain radiating up from elbows and knees where they hit metal. He shook his head and then raised it, opening his eyes to look around. _

_He was no longer in the Initiative labs. _

_Instead, he was in the scene of another far more recent nightmare. The mangled tube train carriage where the Chaos mage had attacked them. The carriage was dark and empty, presumably dumped in a salvage yard somewhere, but Ethan could still taste the Chaos here; it seemed to have been absorbed like radiation into all the metal and furnishings around him._

_He got to his feet, thankful to find that he was stronger now the Initiative portion of the dream was over – and dream this most certainly was, he now knew. The carriage was indeed empty and the doors shut. The two possible routes out being the mangled carriage walls at the far end, and the hole he'd pushed the mage through in front of him._

_Ethan didn't consider himself particularly squeamish, but using the same exit as the one he'd used to kill the mage was a bit much even for him, which left the far end. But of course, to get to it, he had to move past the hole in the floor... and the place where Rupert had almost died. _

_Grimacing, Ethan gingerly began picking his way across, trying to ignore the dried bloodstains on the floor where Rupert had lain. _

_He was just skirting the edge of the hole when a skeletal hand reached up and clamped around his ankle._

_"You're not real," Ethan said, wishing the hand away even as he struggled, his heartbeats loud and fast in his ears. Unfortunately the dream did not seem to be completely lucid, and he had no control over things. He fell as the hand pulled, landing in the rusty shadow of Rupert's injuries._

_He started to sit up, and his hand slipped in something slick and wet. Looking down, he saw the puddle of blood he was sprawled in was now fresh, and it seemed to be growing with each passing second._

_"Maybe big fry ups just before bed aren't such a good idea, after all," he mused out loud, trying to keep calm amongst all the highly disturbing imagery. It wasn't working. He kicked at the skeletal arm holding his other leg. "You can stop now. I got the symbolism five minutes ago."_

_"Who do you think you're talking to?" asked a very familiar voice from the shadows. Ethan looked over to the corner from where the words had come to see... himself. _

_It was Ethan, but it wasn't. Dressed in the red ceremonial robes of a Chaos mage, eyes burning with the magic's dark power in a face where the flesh had been pulled tight over the bones – it was him as he would have become if he hadn't burnt the Chaos out of him._

_"Oh nasty. That's it, no more eggs before bed." The hand seemed to have let go of his ankle so Ethan stood up and studied his shadow-self. "Well, giving up the bad stuff has certainly done wonders for my skin tone," he remarked, refusing to let show how disturbed he was._

_"Do you think you're fooling anyone?" his doppelganger asked, coming closer, circling around Ethan. He... it... felt disturbing. There was the same attraction/repulsion Ethan had felt for dark Chaos during the mage's attack. It made the hairs on his arms stand up._

_He folded his arms. "Spit it out then, oh dissolute one. Reveal whatever cryptic message my subconscious has cooked up this time, and then we can both go back to our day jobs." _

_"You don't belong in the day." The dark Ethan continued to circle him as he spoke. "The sun is not for you. Your place is in the shadows, the night. Try as you might, it is in you and always will be. Your touch darkens, corrupts... Try and stand in the light as you might, you will always find yourself back in the dark."_

_Ethan rubbed at his face and tried harder to wish the dream into something more pleasant. His shadow-self sounded a little too plausible. He couldn't stop himself remembering what he had pushed Rupert into doing in the Tavern just before the attack. If they hadn't done that they would never have left the club early and wouldn't have been on the train for the mage to find them. "Yes, I'm the arch-corrupter," he said peevishly. "Next?" _

_The doppelganger chuckled, the sound sending shivers down Ethan's back, all the more because it was his own voice. "More so than you know. You almost pulled our dear Rupert into the shadows before. This time when you fall –and make no mistake, you _will_ fall– your hooks are so embedded in his essence that you can't help but drag him with you. A veritable coup, that."_

_And there it was, the single horrible truth that Ethan felt sure this whole dream was about. Rupert and he had been quite deliberately bonding to the point that they would no longer be able to consider any form of meaningful separation, and rather than this allowing Ethan to rise to Rupert's level, Ethan was going to destroy his husband. He'd already started. _

_"No," he stated, but his voice was cracking. "You're wrong."_

_"Am I?" His shadow-self smirked at him, moving closer and still circling. "How long can you resist the call of Chaos? Even now you hear it calling to you. Soon that call will drown out everything else, and when you embrace it again, you'll bring Rupert with you. Chaos' loyal son, indeed."_

_Ethan's arms were now wrapped tightly around himself. While he refused to turn physically with his taunter, Ethan's awareness was dragged around in circles as the doppelganger moved. "I will _not_ hurt him," he insisted. "Nothing you can say will make me hurt him." But he already had hurt Rupert, and he knew it._

_"Ah, but my dear...me, you hurt him just by being with him. You have already made him a target for forces that, but for you, would never have given him a second look. You let him take the attack that was meant for you." The doppelganger stopped, standing directly in front of Ethan, meeting and holding his eyes. "You've already sealed his fate, my dear. One way or the other, Chaos will have him."_

_"No." Ethan said, angry and very scared. "No, I won't let that happen." He felt his fists bunching, and he thrust himself forward towards his shadow-self, intending to hurt and maim. but his hands closed on thin air, his shadow-self having vanished. The only thing that remained was his laughing voice, which seemed to come from everywhere._

_"It already has, Ethan. It already has."_

_Too terrified by the words to refute them, Ethan lifted his hand to his mouth, only to feel the skin of his face tighten and dry beneath his fingers. He looked down and saw to his horror that he was now wearing the dark red robes of his shadow self. Blood dripped from his fingertips, and his gaze followed the drops as they fell to the floor of the carriage._

_Where Rupert lay writhing in strands of black Chaos, screaming silently as they ate him alive._

_Ethan's own scream was far from silent._

 

The scream echoed in his ears as he woke up, heart pounding, soaked in sweat, alone in his and Rupert's bed. He struggled to sit, his hand over his mouth and breath coming in gasps. "Oh God," he whimpered. "God, Rupert..."

"Ethan?" He looked up to see Megan hovering in the doorway, the hall light bright behind her form. "Are you... I heard... screaming?"

No, she couldn't see him like this. He turned away. "I'm fine," he said shortly. "Just my past resurfacing. Go back to bed."

But she didn't leave; in fact he heard her take a few steps into the room. "You don't sound very fine."

"I said go back to bed, Megan." His voice was sharp.

"But–"

"Megan, now!" He was still turned away from her, hoping she couldn't see in the dim light how much he was shaking.

She hesitated for a moment, but then with a very soft and meek, "Okay," did as he bid.

Ethan waited for the door to shut, then for the smaller sound of the spare room door shutting, and then was out of bed, turning the light on and diving for the trousers he had removed before collapsing into exhausted sleep.

They were still splattered with blood, both Rupert's and the Chaos mage's. Ethan tried not to see it.

Feeling in the back pocket, he found the number of the private phone Rupert had insisted his hospital room be fitted with. It was a direct line, no switchboard. Ethan sat back on the bed, and with shaking hands, pressed the numbers.

He listened to the line ring, once, twice. On the third ring, it picked up. "Giles," Rupert said.

Suddenly, Ethan couldn't speak. The words of his shadow-self echoed in his mind. He was going to destroy this man whom he loved more than life.

"Hello?" Rupert said, then when the silence continued, "Ethan?"

He was unable to stop the small gasping sob that shook him. He knew he should just put the phone down, but the comfort of Rupert's voice was too much to refuse. "Yes," he admitted very quietly.

He could feel Rupert's concern like a physical touch. "What's wrong, love?"

God, he had to get control of himself. "Just a dream," he said tightly. He wished he'd thought to make the call downstairs where the whisky was.

"From the sounds of you, I'd say it was more of a nightmare than a dream," Rupert said sympathetically. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." That was too brief and too frightened an answer so he made himself lie. "Just one of my old Initiative dreams."

"I get the feeling there's more to it than that, but I won't push. We can talk about something else."

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice sounding hollow. "I shouldn't have disturbed you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Rupert told him with gruff affection. "Who else are you supposed to disturb? If you need me, love, you most certainly should disturb me."

'Need' was a considerable understatement; Ethan was desperate for Rupert. He felt like he was drowning without him, but the dream had caught him tight and wouldn't let him ask for what he craved. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm beginning to go a bit stircrazy actually," Rupert admitted wryly. "I've never been good at just lying still and letting myself get poked and prodded." Speaking in a softer voice, he added, "I miss you."

"I... erm..." With force of will, Ethan shoved the dream down into his subconscious, refusing to listen to it anymore. "I could get a taxi over to you," he offered. "I could be there in less than an hour." He was still far too drained to drive himself safely.

"I would rather be able to come there to you." But Rupert didn't tell him not to come back to the hospital.

Feverishly, Ethan started pulling clothes from the wardrobe and getting dressed, while clasping the phone between his ear and shoulder. "I'll come. Now. I'll leave a note for Megan. It was just a dream. It'll be all right."

"Now you're just stealing my lines," Rupert teased then added more seriously, "I love you. And it _is_ going to be all right."

"Tell me that again when I get there?" Ethan asked, knowing he had to hang up to call the taxi, but not wanting to. "God, I need to be with you."

"I'll tell you that whenever and as many times as you need me to."

More or less dressed, Ethan sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly dizzy from his efforts. He placed a finger over the button that would cut off the call, but didn't press it. "Rupert?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, love?"

"I'm so very sorry." He pressed the button before Rupert could answer, stood up and went downstairs.

***

Giles sat up in his hospital bed, cursing the injuries that not only kept him from being home where he was so obviously needed, but also kept him from being able to pace while he fretted and waited for Ethan to get there.

Ethan had sounded so... lost on the phone. It had been a tone of voice that Giles had hoped he'd never hear from Ethan again.

He glanced up at the clock for the tenth time in the last five minutes, calculating in his head yet again how long it should take a cab to get to the hospital from their house. By the figures he came up with, Ethan should be there any moment.

It couldn't be soon enough.

In the end, Giles had looked another fifteen times at the clock before the door opened, and Ethan slipped quietly in, looking grey-faced and ill, yet smiling broadly as soon as his eyes met Giles'.

"The taxi driver is very fortunate not to be a duck-billed platypus from now on," Ethan commented drily, after he'd shut the door behind him. "I'm sorry I took longer than I said I would." While Ethan sounded much better than he had over the phone, he was still standing over by the door, which seemed odd.

"You're here now," Giles told him, wishing he could go to Ethan, but having to settle for holding a hand out to him.

Ethan seemed to hesitate, but then he walked over, sitting on the edge on the bed and leaning over to kiss Giles' forehead tenderly.

Giles wrapped his arms around him, holding Ethan against his body. "I love you," he said, repeating the words he'd said on the phone. "It's going to be all right." It was quite alarming to feel Ethan tense in his arms, resisting the embrace. It was only for a few seconds and then Ethan relaxed, but Giles knew what he had felt.

"I love you too," Ethan said. "I couldn't sleep without you."

"I know the feeling." Giles slid one hand up to stroke his fingers through Ethan's hair, trying to soothe some of the tension that seemed to fill his form. "The only reason I managed to get any is the drugs in my system. But I've been thinking, if we're both very careful and still, you can join me on this bed."

Ethan drew back suddenly, and the look he gave Giles was almost desperate. "I don't want to hurt you."

"That's where the being careful and still bit comes in," Giles said, putting some humour in his voice, although his worry about Ethan was growing. "You're not going to hurt me."

Ethan made a strange little sound. "I already have."

Giles frowned, stilling his hands. "What are you talking about, love?"

"Nothing." Ethan sat up and started to take his shoes off. "Best ignore me currently. I'm somewhat drained of sense as well as everything else."

There was something going on with Ethan, that much Giles was definite about. He just wasn't sure how to get it out of him, or even if he should. Deciding to let it go for now, at least until they had both had some sleep, all Giles said was, "I'd rather, as they say, snuggle with you than ignore you."

Standing briefly, Ethan lifted the covers carefully and slipped in beside Rupert. "Um, how do you want me? What will hu– what will be uncomfortable for you?"

"Thanks to Jonah and Mary's attentions –and your earlier efforts– most of the injuries are healed enough that they're not going to bother me whatever you do. As long as you don't jostle my leg," He nodded down at the heavily bandaged limb in question. "That's going to take a bit more time."

Ethan carefully arranged himself at Giles' side, with his bent leg over Giles' relatively undamaged one, but not touching the other. He made sure he was lower down in the bed than Giles so that Giles' arm could be wrapped around him, and he laid his head on Giles' shoulder. It was one of their common sleeping positions, albeit assumed with much greater care than normal.

Giles felt as much as heard Ethan inhale deeply then let it go with a sigh. "I don't believe there's a word for how tired I am. Exhausted doesn't even begin to cover it."

"It's no wonder," Giles said, turning his head enough to nuzzle Ethan. "You drained yourself for me."

There was no immediate reply. Ethan's fingers moved restlessly on Giles' chest. Finally he said, "I haven't changed, you know."

Giles frowned, able to sense the depression that seemed to lie over Ethan like a thick blanket, but not its cause. "Haven't changed in what way, love?"

"I'm still a fundamentally selfish creature."

"Everyone has selfish tendencies at the core," Giles said softly. "But your actions, especially in these last few days, prove that's not all there is to you."

Ethan chuckled, but the sound was devoid of warmth. "Yes, it's a convincing act, isn't it?"

Giles was becoming more and more concerned with each comment he heard. "Tell me what's wrong, love."

"I'm just tired. Everything will be all right in the morning."

Giles seriously doubted that, but it _was_ quite likely that whatever was bothering Ethan was being made worse by how drained he was. "Get some rest then, love," he finally said, vowing to take up the conversation again in the morning if things didn't look better.

He felt Ethan nod and nothing more was said. Slowly, Ethan's breathing slowed, and Giles began to feel the twitches Ethan's body always made as it adjusted to sleep.

Despite his lingering worry, Giles' body relaxed with Ethan's. They were so attuned to each other; it was no wonder that they'd both had problems getting to sleep alone, but it was a small disadvantage compared to the growing bond between them, which Giles saw as nothing but beneficial. Almost despite himself, Giles fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

***

Giles leant back in the passenger seat and gingerly stretched his legs out, grimacing a little at the sharp twinge of pain from the still healing left one. But despite this ongoing source of discomfort, Giles was in a good mood; he always felt like he'd just been sprung from prison whenever he got discharged from hospital.

"Should I have moved your seat back further?" Ethan asked. He was in full-blown nervous mother hen mode and had been since he'd arrived back at the hospital with clean clothes for Giles to travel home in.

Since the disturbing night they had spent initially apart, Ethan had spent every available moment at the hospital, eating and sleeping there and only returning home to get clean and check the mail. Giles hadn't pushed, accepting that trying to send Ethan home that first night had been a mistake, no matter how well-intentioned.

And being honest with himself, he had to admit that having Ethan there with him made the whole thing just a tiny bit more bearable.

"It's fine," Giles answered, reaching over to pat Ethan's hand on the steering wheel.

There was a deep groove between Ethan's eyebrows, and he was driving with excessive and pedantic care. "There's clean sheets on the bed, and the girls have been tidying."

Giles smiled, well imagining the cleaning frenzy that probably had taken place. "It'll be good to be home."

"You'll no doubt be glad to know that I warded the second drawer down in the bedroom." There was genuine humour in Ethan's tone, which was nice to hear. Since the attack, Ethan had been all too often depressed or otherwise not himself, although Giles had not managed to get him to talk about how he was feeling. Giles had tried repeatedly, to the point that Ethan had snapped at him, uncharacteristically harsh in his retorts.

"Ecstatic," Giles replied dryly, encouraging the humour. "Explaining your birthday porn to the girls was difficult enough. And I shudder to think what Xander's reaction would have been to that drawer's contents." He paused. "Although it would have been amusing to watch, no doubt."

Ethan chuckled. "The lad certainly does give good mortal terror. Um... you may want to prepare yourself a little."

"For mortal terror?"

Giles was watching Ethan as they spoke, and so he saw Ethan's face twitch, apparently in reaction to the words. But Ethan answered easily enough when he said, "I gained the definite impression that the girls were up to something, and I definitely saw a bag of as yet uninflated balloons on the side."

"Ah. I suppose I should have expected that," he said, thinking about the way the girls had been acting over the last few days since his release date had been set. "Did they get a cake?"

Ethan paused before answering, carefully negotiating a busy junction. "Hmm. Now that I think about it, that seems eminently possible. There was a conversation about favourite foods. I believe I might have been an unwitting informant."

"So you're not a part of any party conspiracy at all then?"

"No," Ethan answered shortly, but then he added quietly, "I've been with you most of the time, and when they have caught me alone, I probably haven't been all that approachable."

Reaching over, Giles rested his hand on Ethan's leg, squeezing reassuringly. "It's been a rough time for everyone," he said gently.

"I don't cope very well with this sort of thing," Ethan admitted, showing more candour with that one line than he had done for quite a while. "Megan getting hurt was bad enough, but you..." He bit off any further words and stared fixedly at the road ahead, closing up again.

"I know." Giles knew he'd have a hard time if their positions were reversed, but for Ethan, who was still adjusting to actually caring for people, it had to be worse. "It's over now though. I'm going to be fine."

Ethan's mouth was pursed tightly, and he gave a sharp nod in reply, but didn't speak. They drove in silence for a while, and Giles' eyelids may have started to droop, when suddenly, they were skidding to a halt.

"You bloody idiot!" Ethan yelled through the windscreen where, Giles could now see, a car had driven straight out of a side street in front of them. Ethan started fiddling with his door handle.

"Where are you going?" Giles asked, grabbing onto Ethan's arm to hold him in the car.

Ethan turned to Giles and there was something wrong with his eyes, although in the heat of the moment, Giles couldn't have said what. Ethan tried to yank his arm free. "Didn't you see what that git just did?"

The git in question was already driving off, and the car behind started to hoot.

"He cut you off. I'm more interested at this moment at what you were planning on doing." Giles kept his voice calm, although his worry about Ethan had just jumped several levels.

Ethan scowled furiously at Giles. "Don't talk to me like I'm a child, Rupert," he sneered. "I'm not one of your precious little Slayers." And then as suddenly as the anger had come, it seemed to fade from Ethan's face, and he looked down. "I'm sorry," he said in a small voice.

Giles stared at Ethan, feeling like he'd glimpsed a ghost from the past for a moment. "What's really bothering you, love? It's not like you to lose it over some idiot in traffic."

The car behind nearly caused an accident by trying to overtake, so Giles let Ethan's arm go, and he drove on down the road, slowly and over-cautiously. Ethan's voice was clearly upset when he spoke. "You could have been hurt again. Because of that... idiot. Because of..." He didn't finish.

Giles reached over again, needing to touch Ethan. "We're going to have a long talk when we get home. After the party."

Ethan's knuckles were whitening as he gripped the steering wheel. "I really am sorry. I'm just so very... tired. I'm still tired." Giles had the distinct impression that Ethan had initially intended another word than 'tired'.

"It's all right, love. It's going to be all right." He kept saying that, although he wasn't quite sure how to make it true. Not when he still wasn't certain what was wrong in the first place. "We'll get through the girls' welcoming me home and then we'll deal with it. Whatever it is."

"Yes," Ethan agreed, nodding vigorously like a religious zealot hearing the Word. "Yes. Everything's going to be all right."


	7. Chapter 7

Ethan was feeling guilty. About any number of things, actually, but most immediately about the Slayers. He'd been cross and dismissive with the girls far too much recently, when they'd really been doing nothing but showing concern for him and Rupert. And now they had thrown this wonderfully touching welcome home party for Rupert, with balloons and a banner and cake, and it was all very sweet and American... And Ethan just wished they, and Xander and Pamela, would bugger off home.

Rupert was taking it all in his stride, ensconced on the sofa with his bad leg propped up on a pillow set on top of the coffee table. He let the girls fuss over him, plying him with food and questions, which he took with equal cheerfulness. Ethan thought that only he caught the sideways glances Rupert kept sending him, full of concern and worry.

So, of course, Ethan then had to also feel guilty about spoiling this pleasant experience for his husband.

It was about a week since the attack on the train, and every day of it had been another level of Hell for Ethan. The voice of his nightmare seemed to live with him all the time now, commenting on everything that was said and done. Forcing Ethan to see the inherent selfishness of his every action, making him see how he was damaging Rupert by existing.

It didn't take much for Ethan to believe his shadow; it was, after all, a part of himself, dragging up repressed fear and shame that all had a basis in reality. Ethan knew what he had been, what he still probably was at heart. How could anything good possibly come out of him?

But he couldn't leave. He needed Rupert almost more than he needed air, and so, self-serving, mercenary creature that he was, Ethan stayed. He pretended everything was all right and waited, waited to find himself dragging Rupert down into their inevitable doom.

Shivering, he went over to the small cabinet near the stairs and poured himself a large glass of Glenfiddich. When he looked around, Xander was watching him, and he gestured with the bottle, offering to pour the young man a drink of his own.

Xander nodded and moved over to join Ethan at the cabinet. "Bet you just wish you could throw us all out, huh?" he said as he took the proffered glass.

"Would you like that answer neat or watered down?" Ethan asked with the best attempt he could muster currently at a friendly smile.

"Hard to have a meaningful conversation if you water everything down," Xander replied, leaning back against the stair railing behind him.

"Yes, I'd rather like the house to be ours again," Ethan said, honestly enough if understating. "How are you, Xander? Recovered now, do you think?"

"Yeah, I'm just fine." Xander grinned. "Chocked full of Xandery life-energy goodness." He grew more serious again. "Thank you for letting me help."

"Don't let Rupert tell you off for it. What you did was admirable."

Xander's grin was back. "I'm kinda looking forward to it. It's been a while since I had an honest to goodness Giles lecture. He hasn't polished his glasses at me since he asked me to be a Watcher."

Despite himself, Ethan laughed and raised his glass in a toast to Xander. "Here's to the polishing of spectacles." After they had both sipped from the superior whisky, Ethan nodded at Pamela who was sitting uncomfortably in one of the two easy chairs. "So," he began quietly, leaning closer to Xander to be heard. "Do you want to take a bet on how much longer she can last without talking about work?"

Xander turned and regarded Pamela as well. "If she lasts another ten minutes I'll be gobsmacked." He said the last word in a truly appalling approximation of an English accent.

Again Ethan laughed, and he patted Xander on the back. "I must teach you some rhyming slang while you're over here. For instance, the word 'berk'. You may have heard it used?"

"I seem to recall it coming out of Giles' mouth once or twice." He frowned, obviously going through his memory. "Don't think Spike ever used that one."

"Most English people consider it a very mild insult, having no idea that it comes from the rhyming slang term 'Berkshire Hunt'. I'll leave you to work out what that rhymes with, shall I?"

"Giles used it in front of impressionable young teenagers!" Xander sounded positively delighted.

"And there, you thought he was so upright and respectable." Ethan grinned at Xander. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Rupert looking his way. Rupert seemed to relax a little when he saw Ethan talking with Xander. Good.

"Yeah, who knew what was hiding behind all that tweed?"

"Well, _I_ did," Ethan pointed out with a smirk.

Xander held up a hand. "Okay, still not ready to go there. It's not you, and it's not that Giles isn't... Okay, not going there either. But he's _Giles_."

"It's like walking in on your parents having sex, isn't it?" Ethan teased happily. "Respectable father figures aren't meant to regularly bugger degenerate English queens. Let alone enjoy it so much that they–"

There was a sharp knock on the front door.

"Saved by the bell," Xander said, relieved. "Or, more accurately, the knock, but the important part is I'm saved."

Frowning, Ethan put down his empty glass and went though the adjourning door into their tiny lobby. Looking through the peephole he saw a motorcycle delivery boy on the other side. Vital work papers for Rupert, no doubt. Ethan sighed heavily and opened the door, glaring.

A few moments later, he returned to the main room with a large hand-written manila envelope, which clearly contained something not paper. "Pamela, perhaps you can explain to me," he started crossly as he walked to the sofa, "why my husband needs to be in receipt of urgent work on his first day back home after grievous injury?"

"He shouldn't be. I cleared his desk myself and dealt with all the priority files." Pamela frowned and got up, coming over to take a closer look at the package. "That's not from my office."

"It's Council stationery." Ethan indicated the embossed seal on the back of the envelope. With a small smile at Kat, he gestured a request for her to move from the sofa. When she obliged, Ethan sat down next to Rupert and handed over the packet. "Happy homecoming, dearheart," he congratulated sourly.

"Try to take it as a sign that things are truly getting back to normal, love," Rupert told him as he opened the packet. He seemed to be taking this in his stride and with good grace, at least until he slid the packet contents out into his hand.

There was a video tape, a letter, and some photos that Ethan didn't get a good look at, but the way Rupert's expression changed told him he probably wasn't going to like them.

Not giving a damn about propriety, Ethan reached over and took a handful of the stuff from Rupert's grasp, his husband clearly too stunned to stop him. Ethan ended up with the letter and several photos. A quick flick through the images was enough to chill him to his marrow, but it was the letter that sealed his sense of doom fulfilled.

* * *

 

13th October 2003

From the office of Francesca V. Travers, Watcher

 

Mr Giles,

I seem to find myself in a rather unfortunate position. I regret to inform you that today some rather disturbing material came into my hands. Material which, were it to arrive in less discreet hands than mine, would undoubtedly be highly damaging for your career and quite disastrous for poor Mr Rayne, who would face lengthy investigations at the very least and quite possibly imprisonment.

Fortunately, I have managed to intercept the videotape before it could reach either the Media or the mundane authorities, and I enclose a copy for your perusal. I thought it best that I keep the original; I'm sure you can see the wisdom in that. Rest assured, I have it in a very safe place. I also enclose some stills taken from the tape, in case you can't quite force yourself to view it, which I would completely understand.

Do prepare yourself for some fairly horrific viewing. Some malign individual, no doubt using the latest computer technology, seems to have forged footage of you and Mr Rayne apparently indulging in – forgive me, there simply is no nice way of putting this – an act of gross indecency within a public place.

It is quite diabolically clever of them really. Can you imagine the Board's reaction to seeing these images? Your long and admirable career with the Council would be in considerable jeopardy, especially if the pictures made the tabloids. I shudder to think of it really.

And things are worse even than that, I am afraid. There is also footage that quite clearly shows Mr Rayne in the act of murder.

Whoever is behind this forgery really is frighteningly clever as he or she has somehow obtained what is clearly genuine film of the unfortunate encounter that resulted in your injuries. However, the video shows Mr Rayne deliberately causing the death of an ailing and helpless old man, and in quite a bloodthirsty and unpleasant manner as well. It is rather shockingly convincing actually, even though I am sure it is quite false.

Poor Mr Rayne would have a devil of a time with the police were this to become public.

Fortunately, as I say, I have it all safe under lock and key.

Anyway, I do hope you are well on your way to recovery. I'm sure your convalescence has given you a chance to think about many things, and I do hope one of those things was the advisability of your current Council policy. I can only hope that you are now starting to realise why, while your remodelling and revisions seemed admirable in theory, their practice has proven that reassessment is urgently required.

I look forward to a new era of agreement between us.

Yours in good faith

Francesca Victoria Travers.

 

* * *

 

"**NO**."

He was aware that everyone was staring at him, and at Rupert, with worried expressions, but the awareness was distant. Everything seemed so very removed at that moment. Even Rupert pressed close beside him, his body tensed and furious as he read the letter in Ethan's shaking hands, seemed far away.

All that filled Ethan's head was the echo of his dream.

The voice of his Shadow seemed deafening – _You can't help but drag him down with you. You hurt him just by being with him. You've already sealed his fate. You will fall, and so shall he. You will destroy him, Ethan. You will destroy him because he loves you._

Rupert's career meant everything to him, and now, because of Ethan, he would be forced to throw it all away, to kow-tow to that bitch, in order to save Ethan from the threat of further imprisonment. It wasn't that Ethan wouldn't willingly subject himself to a cell again for Rupert, however much the idea threatened his sanity, but he knew full well that Rupert would never allow it. He knew that Rupert would sacrifice himself before allowing Ethan to go through that again.

His Shadow was right. Rupert would be ruined, and it would be Ethan's fault. He stood abruptly and took the rest of the packet's contents from Rupert, who belatedly made a move as if to take them back. "Ethan–"

Ethan ignored him and pushed with force through the concerned Slayers, taking all Francesca's blackmail material to the kitchen and grabbing the wok from the cupboard under the hob. He was aware that the others were crowding in the kitchen doorway, watching him, but he didn't pay them any attention.

Had Ethan the emotional energy to care, it would have been disturbing how easily the words of the Chaos-based spell fell from his lips, each syllable a black tarry word of betrayal. _"Aetates dege! Ruina consume!" _

The items he'd put in the wok crumbled to a pile of fine black ash.

"Dispose of it carefully," he said in general to the room as he pushed back through the small crowd again to return to the main room. Only to find himself face to face with Rupert, who had made it to his feet and across the room, leaning heavily on his cane. He was looking at Ethan with a mixture of concern and disappointment.

The expression hurt like the acid Ethan had once used to burn Eyghon's mark from his skin.

"Sit back down, you bloody fool," he muttered, turning away from his husband... Husband no longer. It was obvious what he had to do. Oh God, he couldn't breathe.

Going to the table by the door, he grabbed Rupert's car keys and opened the door to the lobby. He hesitated briefly, but then removed the ring from his left hand, placing it where the keys had been. It felt like he was cutting out his own heart.

For Rupert's sake, Ethan had to disappear.

He heard Rupert calling his name urgently, but he didn't look back. He ran out to the car, started it up and was gone, driving with no care or attention to road safety whatsoever.

***

Giles cursed under his breath as he drove Pamela's car through London. It felt like he'd been driving for hours now.

He cursed his leg, which insisted on aching interminably and not doing what he asked of it. He cursed at length and in several languages Francesca bloody Travers of whom he wanted nothing more than the chance to take her apart piece by bloody piece and then feed her that damned video tape until she choked on it. He cursed Ethan for turning tail and running, and he cursed himself for letting him.

He cursed and held onto his anger with everything that was in him. It was the only thing that was keeping the fear and despair at bay.

Ethan had left.

_Ethan_ had _left_.

Giles had been afraid of that, half-expecting it since the beginning. Ethan had always left before when things got too close, but since Devon that fear had faded. Giles had finally, in the deepest parts of his soul, believed that Ethan wasn't going to go away.

And that, of course, was when the bloody-minded contrary git had run.

Oh, Giles knew why, knew it was out of fear and not a deliberate attempt to hurt him. But that didn't stop the wound being inflicted. It didn't stop his own fear from growing that he'd never see Ethan again. It didn't stop the despair that 'forever' had turned out to be measured in weeks, and he was once again alone.

The only things keeping him from diving into a bottle and not crawling back out were the anger he held onto with all of his strength, and the ghostly, barely perceptible sense of Ethan, of where his lover had gone.

So he cursed and drove, following the trail that he wasn't even entirely sure wasn't all in his mind. There wasn't anything else he could do.

It suddenly hit home to him that he knew where he was now driving. This was Camden, and he was heading, apparently, for Hampstead. Had Ethan gone to the Heath? The sense of Ethan grew a little stronger as Giles got closer, and he found himself pulling into the carpark near the foot of Parliament Hill.

Where he could see his own car parked haphazardly across two spaces, but no immediate sign of Ethan.

He had the scent now, though, and wasn't going to give up. Closing his eyes, Giles felt for that tenuous connection, that strange awareness of Ethan. He turned until he faced the direction from which it was the strongest and then opened his eyes. His path lay before him.

Grimacing and leaning heavily on his cane, Giles started up the hill.

It was far from being an easy trek even when fit, and by the time Giles reached the top, he was covered in a film of sweat despite the coolness of the autumn day. His perception of Ethan was even stronger, however, and that made it easy to ignore the pain. He was now quite certain Ethan was within the woods and scrubland of the East Heath.

As Giles made his way painfully up and down lesser inclines and along the meandering paths that led to his destination, he became aware of strange not-quite-thoughts within his mind, thoughts that didn't come from his own brain.

The thoughts weren't quite... human, but for all of that, they did seem familiar. _'Ethan?'_ he sent in the direction the thoughts seemed to be coming from.

_'denial... fear... need... run... no, stay...'_

There. That way. Giles slowly made his way towards where the mental voice had come from. It was definitely Ethan, although it sounded more like a sleeping mind than his lover's usual lightning quick thoughts._ 'Where are you?' _Giles sent, trying to keep him talking so he could track him down.

_'go away... bite you... run... no, stay... husband...'_

The trees and undergrowth were thicker here, and it would be hard going at the best of times. As Giles continued to head toward the strange, disturbed thoughts of Ethan, he found himself facing an impenetrable layer of bushes and tall weeds.

"Always have to make things difficult, don't you, love?" Giles murmured aloud. Shifting his weight to his good leg, he pulled the covering off the swordstick he was using as a cane and cut a path through the plant life.

_'hear him... run... run... must run... no, husband, stay... need...'_

_'Yes, stay,'_ Giles sent back, phrasing his thoughts in the same simple way that Ethan's seemed to be phrasing his. _'Stay, Ethan. I need you.'_

_'hurt him... can't hurt him... must run... no, stay... will hurt him... fear... fear... fear... oh God, Rupert, help me...'_

That last had sounded more like Ethan's regular thought patterns, although they was far more desperate than Giles liked to hear. "I'm right here, Ethan," he said, both aloud and with his thoughts. "Just come to me, I'll help you. We'll help each other. That's the way it's supposed to be."

_'no... you must go... going to hurt you... Chaos in me... going to pull you down... he said. He said that... keep away. Go home... love you... oh God, I'm drowning...'_

Giles broke through the last of the undergrowth to find himself in a tiny clearing. In front of him, backing up slowly, was a very sick looking fox. Its eyes were dull and coat staring, and it seemed to be trying to pant and snarl simultaneously.

"Dear lord..." Giles murmured, staring. He didn't doubt for a second that he was looking at Ethan.

For a long moment that was all he could do, stare. But when Ethan-fox turned and looked as if he were about to bolt, Giles threw out a hand toward him and begged, "Don't go. Please, Ethan."

The fox paused, its head hung low. _'so lost... want to be lost... want to forget... what I am... but can't forget you, can I?... hurting...'_

Taking a great chance, knowing that once he was down, he wouldn't be able to get up again fast enough to catch Ethan if he did bolt, Giles awkwardly lowered himself to the ground, grunting a little as his bad leg protested. It put him closer to eye level with Ethan and made him much less a threatening presence.

"Don't go," he said again, and then as Ethan took another hesitant step away, added in a voice that cracked despite his best efforts, "You promised you wouldn't leave!"

He heard a wail of pure pain in his head at that, but Ethan-fox turned back to face him and even walked a few slow steps forward. _'no... don't hurt... mustn't hurt... trying to protect you...'_

"You can't protect me if you're not here," Giles said, meeting the alien eyes that still somehow seemed familiar. "You leaving would hurt me more than anything else would." He was aware as he said them that his words were an inexact echo of what Ethan had said to him in the hospital after he'd woken up the first time.

The fox shook its head as if trying to dislodge a flea. _'No. He said. Said I'd drag you down. That I'd destroy you. Only way to protect is to not be me anymore.'_ Ethan's thoughts seemed to be becoming a little more coherent.

Giles shook his head. "You're a part of me. Losing you would be like losing a limb. Worse."

Ethan-fox came closer still; he was in touching distance now, were Giles to stretch out his hand. _'Need you. Hurting.'_

Slowly, carefully, not taking his eyes away from Ethan's, Giles reached out his hand to touch him.

A shudder rippled out across the red fur from where Giles' fingers touched, but Ethan-fox stood his ground. The voice in Giles' head was quite distraught however. _'Wrong. This is wrong. I should go. So selfish. So bloody selfish. Love you so much. Can't leave. Going to destroy you.'_

"You're not going to destroy me, love." He stroked his fingers lightly over the soft fur. "Having you with me makes me stronger than I'd ever be alone."

A few more steps forward were taken. Ethan-fox was now beside Giles, who could feel the quickly panting chest touching his arm. _'But he said...?'_

"Who said, love?"

_'Shadow'_

Giles wasn't sure exactly what Ethan was referring to, but understood enough to try and argue the point. "You shouldn't listen to shadows; they're not real, and they disappear in the light." He let a bit of his magic gather around his fingers in Ethan's fur, channelling the energy into the visible spectrum so they were both surrounded in a soft glow.

A whining noise came from Ethan-fox's throat, and he leant against Giles, apparently seeking more magic. _'Need.'_

Giles obliged, channelling more energy through them both. Anything to keep Ethan with him.

The fox-face was lifted up very close to Giles own, and a wet tongue flicked out and licked at his cheek. _'So good. So pure. Everything I'm not. Rupert, don't let me drag you down. Promise me.'_

Closing his eyes, Giles relished the kiss, even delivered in this form. "You won't drag me down, love. I promise. You'd have to fall to drag me down, and I'm not going to let you do that."

With carefully placed feet, Ethan-fox moved up onto Giles' lap. _'So scared. So very scared.'_

"It's all right, love," Giles said, wrapping his arms around the slight but still comforting weight in his lap. He leant over and rested his cheek on the fox's head. "I've got you. We're going to fix everything. It's going to be all right."

Ethan didn't ask for an explanation of _how_ everything was going to be fixed, which was possibly a good thing. He just sat his hindquarters down and leant his body against Giles. _'I want to come back now.'_

A wave of relief went through Giles at that. "Thank you."

Giles heard a nervous laugh that was decidedly Ethan in his mind. _'Don't thank me yet. I think I've forgotten how.'_

"I haven't." Of course shape-changing was not the way his magic lay, but he knew the theory and had heard the lessons that Ian had given Ethan on the subject. "I can help you."

_'I tried so hard to lose myself; I'm not sure I remember my own pattern. Yours, of course, I could recall perfectly, even if you weren't here.'_ It was good to hear such clear and Ethanish thoughts as well as the mental chuckle that followed them. _'Throw me a rope, dearheart?'_

"Always." Giles closed his eyes and let his thoughts and magic twine with his Ethan's, consciously thinking about how Ethan felt to him. He couldn't perceive the patterns like Ethan could, but he hoped it would be enough. He thought about his physical perceptions: how Ethan walked into a room, what he looked like when he danced, how he felt when they held each other tight. Giles thought of Ethan's scent and the texture of his skin, the feel of his hair slipping between fingers, and the taste of his lips and of his cock. Giles thought about Ethan's voice and his laughter, how he shook when he wept, and how his head tipped back when he came, the tendons of his neck in sharp relief.

With these thoughts and a thousand more like them, Giles built a four-dimensional pattern of his lover and fed it to Ethan through their link.

_'Oh, my husband, my mirror... How could I ever have believed I could leave you, even without my memories?'_ The fox's body began to undulate and spasm alarmingly beneath Giles' arms, barks and whimpers of pain emerging from its drooping head.

Then Giles' arms were pushed outward suddenly, and there was the far greater weight on his legs of a naked, shivering, and fully human Ethan.

"Welcome back," Giles murmured, hugging him tightly, the relief at having Ethan in his arms and human again almost making him shake.

Ethan moaned heavily and turned in the embrace so that he could return it, desperately clutching at Giles and sobbing uncontrollably. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he said thickly. "I thought... I was so scared, and he was so convincing... so easy to believe him... then she... Oh Rupert, please forgive me."

"Always." He rubbed his hands lightly down Ethan's back, soothingly. "Next time talk to me before it gets to this point?"

"I got so lost..." Ethan seemed to be trying to curl up his long body, to make it smaller. He nuzzled his wet face into the crook of Giles' neck. "It's so easy to believe that I'm... that I'm bad. Intrinsically so. That I can't help but to hurt you, to drag you down. All my life I've been told I was wrong: obscene, evil, disgusting, you know the words. My mum once... no." He took a gasping breath, but the words kept tumbling out. "It was just so easy to believe him. My shadow. Not like I haven't tried to live down to the not-so-great expectations enough in my murky past, is it?"

Giles slid a hand under Ethan's chin, tilting his face up to meet his eyes. "You are the very best thing that's ever happened to me. You're not wrong, or bad, or evil, although occasionally you may be obscene, but only in the best sort of way."

Ethan's tear-filled eyes stared at Giles. He was still shivering, which was hardly surprising as it was a cloudy day in mid-October, and he was naked, and he was breathing through his mouth in audible shuddery gasps. "I don't trust myself," he said simply. "I feel wrong. Always have. It's been so much worse since the dream though."

"You've spent so much time working with dark Chaos; it's no wonder you felt wrong all the time in the past." Giles frowned, turning over what he'd just said and what was happening with Ethan and coming up with a theory. "When did you start feeling wrong again?"

"Since the dream... the night after you were hurt when you sent me home. My subconscious decided to grant me a meeting with my shadow-self. He... wasn't very encouraging." Ethan looked down as if ashamed.

That would hold with his theory, Giles thought. "Let me..." he began, reaching out and 'tasting' Ethan with his magic sense.

As he had far too many times recently, Ethan seemed to have to stop himself moving back from the touch, his body jolting slightly as he resisted the impulse. The reason why was instantly evident; Ethan's bright essence seemed dimmed, covered in a dark bitter slime that had a familiar taste to it.

"Wh... what is it?" Ethan could clearly sense Giles' unease at the discovery.

"Chaos magic," Giles said bluntly. "That bastard may have attacked me physically, but he tagged you just as strongly."

"Oh..." Ethan's eyes unfocused as he obviously looked inside himself. "Bugger it. I'm so stupid. I'm so bloody stupid, Ripper. Why didn't I feel it? Why didn't I realise?" He started to move on Giles' lap, apparently struggling to stand up.

Unthinkingly, Giles tightened his grip, keeping Ethan in place. "You had other things on your mind; you were drained and dealing with strong emotions."

Ethan continued to struggle. "Let me up, dearheart. I need to... I need to cleanse. I shouldn't touch you when I'm like this."

"You touched me before," Giles pointed out mildly, but obediently let go of Ethan.

"I'll infect you," he said distractedly as he got to his feet and then looked around the clearing seeming lost. "Oh."

"What is it, love?"

"No ocean. No wind. No storm."

Ah. So Ethan couldn't use the same source of power to cleanse himself as he had the first time, but if it was only a clean source of power that Ethan needed... "There's me," Giles said.

"No." Ethan clearly hadn't even considered it before refusing.

"Why not?" Giles asked, forcing that consideration.

"Too risky." The jerky way Ethan's head moved as he continued to look around the clearing was still a little foxy, Giles realised.

"My risk to take." He wanted to get to his feet and go to Ethan, but the pain he knew that his bad leg would cause with such a move wouldn't help his argument so he stayed where he was, looking up.

"No, you don't understand. I'm not talking about the risk of taking too much. It's the risk of passing on to you what's in me. Infecting you. Dragging you down with me when I fall..." He trailed off, staring down at the ground. "When I fall..."

"Love, you've poured pretty much all of your energy into me when we were right in the middle of this. If you didn't 'infect' me then..."

"No, you're cleansed. I cleansed every bloody cell. Repeatedly." Ethan scuttled back to Giles' side, falling to his knees beside him. Giles felt Ethan's magic probing gently inside him. "You're clean."

"That's my point. You're not going to infect me. And even if you do, you can cleanse me again." Giles laid a hand against Ethan's cheek. "Let me help, love."

Ethan paused and then laughed slightly. "If they've got a camera on us now, we must make a pretty pathetic sight. You are, of course, quite right, and one day I might actually learn my lesson and remember to listen. I give up control to you all the time, yet when it really matters, I stupidly take it back again. You know what I need far better than I do. I need to remember that."

"You value yourself far too poorly," Giles told him, sliding his hand down to entwine his fingers with Ethan's. He couldn't help but notice that Ethan's skin was covered in goosepimples. "Case in point, you're freezing. We should go home and do the cleansing there."

"I'm not completely sure where we are," Ethan admitted sheepishly. "Although I know my clothes are in the car."

"I was going to ask you about that. Much as I love you naked, this isn't really the weather for it."

Ethan twisted his lips. "I'm more worried about your leg. Sitting in this damp won't be doing it any good at all. If I've caused you to–" He swallowed and changed course, standing up and offering a hand. "Come on, let's go home."

Giles took the proffered hand and let Ethan pull him to his feet, doing his best to hide the grimace of pain. "Home."


	8. Chapter 8

They were nearly home. Thank God.

Ethan was emotionally exhausted, and they still had the cleansing to do. He was driving very carefully again, not so much in fear of hurting Rupert, but because he was so tired that he didn't really trust his perceptions, and there was still something disturbingly vulpine about his vision.

He was worried about Rupert too. His husband had used his bad leg an excessive amount both during that route march across Hampstead Heath to find him, and then during the slightly more relaxed trek back. They had surrounded themselves with magic when trudging back to the car – Rupert's to keep them warm, his own to hide his nudity from curious eyes. Supporting each other, they'd made their way out of the woodland and over the hill to the carpark.

It had been obvious that Ethan had to drive; no amount of willpower applied to facial expressions could hide how much pain Rupert was in. They took Rupert's Rover, and as Ethan drove them across North London, Rupert called home, reassuring the worried people waiting there, but asking them to leave as he and Ethan needed to do magic in private. Xander had apparently volunteered to drive Pamela to pick up her car from where Rupert had parked it so everything was organised, if not quite resolved.

Ethan himself was simply trying not to think about anything beyond the immediate. He had nearly done something fatally foolish due to the influence of a small amount of the malign magic he used to exist upon. He could only describe what he had just been through as a breakdown, and if he were to think about that, it would probably cause another.

He was very scared.

Other than calling the others and then relaying the details of the call, Rupert had been silent for the whole drive. He had, however, kept a hand on Ethan's arm or leg the entire time as if he were making sure that Ethan was really there.

"Maybe we should get some sleep before the cleansing?" Ethan suggested, worried about Rupert's fatigue level. "I'll cook you something wholesome; then you can sleep, and we'll do it in the morning."

Rupert shook his head. "I think we'd both sleep better for having it done."

"Rupert, you're..." Ethan stopped, so unsure of himself currently that he couldn't even assert his fears about Rupert's health.

"I'm fine," Rupert said sharply. His tone was enough to stop Ethan even considering saying anything else. He bit his lower lip and concentrated on the road ahead as he turned the car into their home street.

Rupert sighed, pushing his glasses up and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Sorry," he said, voice much softer. "It's been a long day."

"I'm sorry," Ethan replied immediately. The regret he felt about all of this was crushing him.

"Not your fault." Rupert reached for Ethan's hand and brought it up to drop a kiss in his palm. "And we'll both feel better if we end the day with something positive."

Of course it was his fault. Ethan parked the car and then hurried round to help Rupert out, not trusting Rupert to not try to get out on his own otherwise. "Not even a cup of tea?" he asked.

Rupert grimaced as he got out of the car, leaning heavily on Ethan. "We can have tea after."

"All right," Ethan agreed meekly. He had to let Rupert make all the decisions, at least until Ethan was clean of Chaos, and probably after that too. His own judgement was highly impaired.

When they got inside, Rupert stopped and turned to wrap his arms around Ethan tightly, saying, "I love you." Ethan let himself be held, but only half-heartedly returned the embrace; he didn't feel deserving of it. Rupert sighed and pulled back. "Shall we do this in the living room? Upstairs?"

"Your choice." Ethan walked through the lobby door and went to drop the car keys back on the small table. He had a sudden flashback of dropping his wedding ring there earlier... but it wasn't there any more. He began to frantically turn things over, searching for it. "Rupert..." He couldn't keep the panic from his voice.

Rupert stepped up behind him, his arm reaching around and holding Ethan's ring in his line of sight. "Lose something?" he said softly.

"Oh," Ethan said, more a little moan than a word. He reached hesitantly for the ring, unsure if he deserved to get it back after discarding it so forthrightly. "May I?"

"Turn around." When Ethan obeyed, Rupert took his hand and slowly slid the ring back onto his finger where it belonged.

The sense of relief was so overpowering that Ethan could feel himself tremble. "Yours," he whispered. "Yours, always yours."

He saw something flicker in Rupert's eyes at that. "Mine," Rupert murmured, leaning in and kissing him deeply. When their lips touched, Rupert began pouring his magic into Ethan.

_'Take the power,'_ he encouraged in Ethan's mind. _'Cleanse yourself.'_

And Ethan couldn't exactly refuse as he was being filled with the glorious magic, inundating him like a warm, drenching rain. He staggered against Rupert, not letting their lips part, and began to cleanse himself with the power being forced into him, letting it cauterise the dark Chaos away. _'So pure,'_ he thought. _'So good. Like the sun.'_

_'Bright spirit burning the dark away,'_ Rupert agreed, although Ethan got the feeling they were talking about slightly different things, but it didn't matter; Rupert's magic continued to pour through him until it seemed to fill every cell in his body.

Ethan felt like he must be glowing; he was so full of gold. Every part of him was filled and burnt clean; there was nowhere left for Chaos to hide. He didn't need any more power, but Rupert kept sending it, and all Ethan could do was bathe helplessly in the light.

Finally though, Rupert reluctantly broke the kiss, and the level of magic passing between them slowly began to decrease. "Better?" he murmured, running a finger over Ethan's lips.

"Yes?" Ethan shook his head quickly, the action feeling regrettably foxy, and added more firmly, "It's all gone."

He felt Rupert's magic touch his again briefly. "You taste like you again." Rupert smiled. "Sweet and bright."

"I'll take your word for it," he replied wryly, but he was smiling; he couldn't help it. He'd gone from a quite appalling low to pure high in a matter of a few minutes. "Dearheart, is all this standing up strictly good for you?"

"Actually, I'm sure it's not," Rupert said ruefully. "You might want to grab me before I collapse."

Instantly concerned, Ethan slipped his arm around Rupert's waist. "Lean on me. Let's get you to the couch."

"That might be a good idea," Rupert admitted, leaning almost all of his weight on Ethan as they moved slowly across the room. "I may have overdone it just a little."

"A lot," Ethan said, frowning and wondering if it was too late to stop Jonah and Mary leaving for Devon. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that it was, by quite some hours. He established Rupert on the couch, then looked down at him, still frowning. "Tea and painkillers?"

Rupert grimaced at the mention of painkillers, but nodded his head.

"Food?" Ethan offered as he headed for the kitchen.

"I'm not hungry, but I'll keep you company if you want to eat."

He rubbed his stomach thoughtfully. "I think I, um, may have already eaten. Please, don't ask."

"I take it you're not going to want rabbit for a while then?" Rupert asked, and Ethan could hear the affectionate teasing smile in his voice. He groaned in distaste and hurried into the kitchen where he put the kettle on.

As he got the tea things together, he tried to analyse his state of mind now, but other than both considerable relief and equally considerable confusion, he really didn't know how he was feeling. Rupert's magic had cleansed the despair and terror along with the corruption, but not everything was better. There was still Francesca bloody Travers to deal with, for instance.

Better to concentrate on Rupert, who needed him to be strong.

Grabbing the painkillers from where he'd put them away when they'd first got home from the hospital, Ethan took them and two mugs of tea back out to the main room.

Rupert had been leaning against the back of the sofa with his eyes closed, looking bone weary, but he opened his eyes and smiled when he became aware of Ethan's presence. After putting both mugs on the coffee table, Ethan sat down beside him, handing him his pills.

"You should take some and then go to bed, dearheart," he said with a frown.

Rupert shook his head stubbornly. "Not without you."

"Who said I wasn't coming with you? It's been a long day, to say the very least."

"Ah. That's different then." Rupert smiled ruefully and put the pills in his mouth, reaching for one of the mugs to wash them down. "I... may be a bit stubborn about keeping you in sight for a while," he admitted quietly, looking down at the mug he held instead of at Ethan.

"Oh God, I'm sorry." Without the Chaos clouding his mind, the awareness of exactly what Ethan had nearly done to Rupert hit him hard. He looked down also, staring at his hands, at the ring on his left hand. "So sorry."

Rupert reached over and laid his hand on top of Ethan's. "Apology accepted. Just promise me, next time you have a conversation with shadows, you talk to me about it?"

Ethan looked at Rupert, pained and initially defensive. "It... I... You were..." Then he rolled his eyes and said meekly, "Yes, Rupert. I promise."

"Thank you." Rupert tugged gently on Ethan's hand, pulling him to lean against his side, then let out a sigh. "I could sense where you were," he said after a moment. "That's how I found you."

"You've been able to do that for quite some time now," Ethan pointed out, as he turned and snuggled close. "I'm not sure I've ever been more lost than I was today, yet still you found me. It's very comforting."

"Yes, it is," Rupert agreed. "It means you can't leave me." It was obvious that he'd tried to inject humour into the words, but he hadn't quite managed it.

"Had I been in my right mind I would never–" Ethan stopped. Nothing he could say in his defence seemed worth saying really. He fell back on a heartfelt reiteration of, "I'm sorry."

"I know." Rupert nuzzled against him. "I wouldn't have let you go. Even if I hadn't had the built-in tracking system, I would've gone after you and kept looking until I found you."

"Thank you." It seemed a very small phrase to express the flood of gratitude that filled Ethan at the words. He looked up and touched Rupert's face. "Never ever let me go?"

Rupert turned his head to press a kiss to Ethan's palm. "I promise. I don't think I'm capable of letting you go anymore."

Ethan watched the gold band on the hand being kissed. _Love, Magic, Destiny_ – Ethan wondered, not for the first time, why Rupert had chosen the third word in particular to have engraved on their rings, this being before Keri's ominous prognostications. But it was true; there was something very destined about their relationship and always had been. Everything that had happened to them, even before they had actually met, seemed to lead directly to this point in time.

Freeing his hand briefly, Ethan leant to pick up his tea, swigging it down and returning the empty mug to the table. Taking Rupert's hand again, he said, "Come on, dearheart. Let's get you, us, to bed."

"Bed sounds wonderful," Rupert groaned. "Sleeping in my own bed with you wrapped around me, at the moment that sounds bloody close to heaven to me."

"I'm in complete agreement."

Ethan stood and helped Rupert up. Then he took Rupert's weight, as best he could, supporting him upstairs. It was a slow and painful process. After installing him in bed, Ethan insisted on going to clean his teeth as he rather feared he had rabbit-breath, but it wasn't too long until they were both curled up together.

Rupert wrapped his arms around Ethan and sighed in contentment. "This is the homecoming I was picturing."

Snuggling close, Ethan breathed in the proximity of Rupert, luxuriating in his presence. He sighed, relaxing for what seemed like the first time in a week. "Oh, what a sodding awful day." By non-verbal mutual agreement, they seemed to be avoiding discussion of the large Francesca Travers-shaped elephant in the corner, for tonight at least. That was undoubtedly for the best.

Tentatively, Ethan reached out with his magic senses, feeling into Rupert's body, checking on his condition. "Your leg's still a bit of a mess, dearheart. I think my vulpine adventures may have undone a lot of the good Jonah and Mary did for you. I might ask them for advice. I'm going to be calling Devon anyway, if that's okay with you."

"To talk with Ian?"

Ethan nodded. "I think I need to."

"I think that would be a good idea," Rupert agreed. "You can talk to me about anything, but there are some things that you'd probably be more comfortable talking to him about."

"I just didn't expect Chaos to have so much control over me, not after I controlled _it_ for so long. But let's talk about it, and everything else, in the morning. You need to sleep." Ethan stroked his hand slowly over Rupert's chest in soothing motions.

Rupert sighed, and Ethan could feel his body relax even more. "Have I told you how glad I am that you're here?" Rupert asked softly.

"I love you. I never, ever again want to find myself thinking that the best thing I can do for you is to leave you. Keep me close, dearheart." Ethan closed his eyes. "Never let me go."

Rupert's arms tightened around him. "I won't. Ever."

Holding onto that promise like a child with a teddybear, Ethan relaxed and let himself fall gently into sleep.

***

As soon as he heard Ethan's footsteps on the stairs, Giles looked up from the book he was doing his best to concentrate on reading. He was still in bed, Ethan having insisted that he remain there, despite his protests that he was fine. Granted, his leg ached, a dull throbbing that hadn't really gone away since the Heath, but that was something he could deal with.

But Ethan had frowned sternly at him in a way that Giles couldn't resist, especially after the last week, which was why Giles was sitting meekly in bed while Ethan made and brought him up breakfast.

The door to the bedroom was pushed open, and Ethan appeared carrying a loaded tray. He looked over at Giles and nodded in a satisfied fashion. "I'm glad to see you're where I left you."

"Considering that you've hidden my cane, I really didn't have the means of going anywhere," Giles replied drily, setting his book aside.

After settling the tray, which had unfolding legs, over Giles' lap, Ethan set about plumping the pillows behind him. "I wouldn't put it past you to try, and if you do, there'll be trouble."

"What sort of trouble?" Giles asked, making a show of weighing his options. Not that he was really planning on going anywhere, not with Ethan there with him, but it felt so wonderful to be able to tease him again.

"I'll pout," Ethan said succinctly.

Giles smiled. "Oh no, anything but that."

"Quite. So do as you're told." Ethan sat down on the edge of the bed beside Rupert, pushing the tray a little closer to him. There was a nice grilled breakfast on a plate and plenty of toast on another. Tea, of course, but also fruit juice and the morning's Independent. There was also an annoying brown glass bottle. "Take your pills," Ethan instructed, apparently prepared to watch until Giles obeyed.

Giles looked at the small bottle of painkillers distastefully; he hated the way the pills slowed his thinking and made everything seem more distant. If he hadn't been so doped up this past week, he might have noticed how much distress Ethan had been in earlier. "I really don't think I need–"

Ethan pouted.

Giles tried again. "The pain isn't that bad, and I don't think–"

Ethan's eyes grew large and expressive, and Giles could swear he could see his bottom lip tremble slightly.

"Oh for–" Knowing when to admit defeat, Giles reached for the bottle, but he shook out only one pill, half of the recommended dosage. They had things to discuss and plans to formulate, and Giles needed as clear a mind as possible to deal with them. Swallowing it with his tea, he declared, "There. I've drugged myself. Happy?"

Ethan seemed about to protest, but then just smiled. "I will take your grumpiness as proof you require further bed-rest," he said with a smirk. "Now eat up, you need your nutrients."

"Is this how you're going to be whenever I'm under the weather or injured?" Giles asked as he picked up a fork and obediently started eating, bemused and quite taken with this new side of Ethan.

Ethan's eyebrow raised questioningly while, without ever looking down, his fingers darted out to steal a button mushroom from Giles' plate.

"All... take charge and... nurturing," Giles elaborated, allowing the theft of food, taking it as yet another sign that Ethan was back to normal.

"Are you planning to make a habit of injury?" Ethan chewed distractedly, staring now at Giles' breakfast.

"I never plan on getting hurt," Giles said, giving Ethan a knowing glance and offering him a tomato.

Ethan didn't take it; he was frowning. "This might sound infantile, but I... I want you to not get hurt again. Ever."

Giles put his fork down and reached for Ethan's hand instead, meeting his gaze seriously. "I can't promise that I won't get hurt, love. That isn't something anyone can promise."

"No," Ethan said slowly, as if explaining something complex to a child. "This is what you're meant to say – 'Yes, Ethan, I promise. I'll never get hurt again, never get sick, I'll not age a day, and we can be together forever.' Now, do you want to try again?"

Giles smiled faintly, remembering a time, years ago, when Buffy had made a similar request. He had given the words she'd asked for then and opened his mouth to do the same for Ethan now, but found that they wouldn't come. "That would be a lovely fairy tale," he said instead. "I wish I could."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "You really have never mastered the art of lying, have you? Remind me to send myself if we ever need any espionage done."

"I won't make you a promise I can't keep, even in jest," Giles said, putting words to the thing that kept him from voicing the lies. He looked down at their clasped hands. "I don't want you wondering when I do make a promise if I mean it or not."

"Oh," Ethan raised his free hand, as if to cover his mouth, but stopped halfway. Then he smiled, albeit a little raggedly. "Oh, hurry up and get better, dearheart. I need to show you quite graphically how much I love you."

Giles felt a surge of love and arousal at that as his imagination quite happily provided examples of how Ethan could demonstrate. "I'm not _that_ injured," he replied with an impish smile and a raised eyebrow.

"Really?" A happy, lustful smile dawned on Ethan's face, and _his_ eyebrow raised. "Finished brekkie, have we?"

Giles chuckled. "I thought I needed my nutrients."

"Exercise is important too in any good fitness regime," Ethan asserted, slipping a hand under the covers to play over Giles' bare chest and belly.

"If you think I can keep my strength up..." Giles said, his body reacting to his Ethan's touch.

"Let's see, shall we?" Ethan stood up from the bed, lifting the tray from Giles' lap, putting it on the floor.

While standing, Ethan locked gazes with Giles and slowly took his clothes off. It wasn't exactly a strip tease, but it was more than a simple undressing. Naked, he ran his hands over himself sensually. When his hands reached his cock, he paused to smile seductively at Giles, then squeezed and rubbed himself into hardness while Giles watched.

Giles felt a rush of desire so intense it was almost painful. This was what he wanted – Ethan naked, teasing, happy... Wanting him.

Ethan stalked around to the other side of the bed and slipped quickly under the covers. Immediately, Giles felt an investigative hand running down his body,a nd he smiled when the hand brushed against his erection. "Seems I can keep something up anyway."

"I would hope so. It's been nearly a week." Ethan seemed to wince slightly at his own words, but he was soon smiling again as he wrapped his fingers around Giles' cock. Giles felt the fingers squeeze as Ethan moved towards him for a kiss.

Giles reached for him in turn, pulling him down and sliding a hand to the nape of his neck to hold him in place as they kissed. The kiss started off gently, exploratory, but quickly became hungry and with an edge of desperation to it as the thought of how close he'd come to losing Ethan whispered in Giles' mind.

As their kiss became fierce, Ethan moaned, pressing himself into Giles' flank. His hand gripped tighter and began to move, and the sensation brought a rumbling moan up from Giles' chest as he lost himself in kissing Ethan, in Ethan's touch... Ethan's presence.

"Rupert," Ethan muttered breathlessly as their mouths briefly parted. "Need you."

"You have me," Giles murmured, kissing Ethan again. "Need you too," he added, speaking from the desperation that still seemed to be lingering just below the surface. "I need you, Ethan. Don't ever think I don't."

Ethan's eyes seemed to blaze. He made no verbal reply, but the kiss when it began again was fiercer than ever, and Ethan's hand sped up its movements.

Giles closed his eyes, losing himself in the taste and feel of Ethan. "More," he demanded, tightening his arms around Ethan's body, pulling him closer. It wasn't close enough though. It would never be close enough; not until he could pull Ethan clear inside of him, where he knew Ethan couldn't ever leave.

Ethan released Giles' cock and wriggled on top of him, rubbing and writhing, the kiss as hungry as ever. He seemed, however, to be cautious of Giles' bad leg, placing one knee between Giles' open thighs and not moving over any further than that. Giles himself didn't really care about his injuries at that moment; he just cared about Ethan, and the way Ethan was moving against him.

"God, I _really_ need you," Ethan panted, lifting himself on his elbows and staring down avidly. "Rupert, what's possible here?"

Raising a hand, Giles traced Ethan's mouth. He felt oddly hesitant about what he was about to suggest, but went forward anyway. "We could... You could... top?"

Ethan's expression became immediately closed and his movements stilled. "No. I... can't."

"Why?" Giles asked softly, continuing to run his hands over Ethan's skin.

"Because," Ethan said, wriggling uncomfortably and avoiding Giles' eyes. "That's not the way of things between us."

"It could be, if we wanted it to be." Giles paused, tilting his head in an effort to meet Ethan's gaze. "But you don't want."

"I... I can't. I know balance is important, but... " Ethan was clearly starting to get upset, and he still wouldn't look at Giles.

"Why?" Giles asked again, keeping his voice soft. "It doesn't matter, love, I just want to understand."

Ethan finally met his eyes, but his expression was sour, almost petulant. "You're spoiling the mood," he accused.

"I'm sure we can recapture it." Giles paused, choosing his next words carefully. "I want to understand you, everything about you. The more we understand each other, the less chance that something like this past week will happen again."

Ethan sighed and tried to roll off, but Giles held him tight. He sighed again. "I like you in control."

Giles considered that, letting his fingers slide lightly through Ethan's hair. "You like me in control," he repeated.

Ethan nodded. "It makes me feel like... like everything's all right in the world. That zippedy doo dah feeling, dearheart." He laughed self-deprecatingly.

"Because I'm taking care of you," Giles guessed.

Ethan shook his head. "I'm not a complete child, Rupert," he said crossly then immediately looked chagrined. Sighing yet again, he screwed his face up, closing his eyes. "If you're in charge; I'm not. I can't..." He laughed suddenly. "I can't bugger things up."

The idea that Ethan was so convinced he would make a mistake that being in control scared him disturbed Giles, but it wasn't something that could be fixed with a few words. It was something they'd have to work on long-term, and Giles vowed to himself he'd do that. He hadn't realised Ethan was so unsure of himself, or he would have tried to help before now, but for the time being, he tried his best to lighten the mood. With a faint smile, he said, "So you leave the buggering to me."

"Yes." Ethan smiled back. "You're much better at doing it without the 'up', anyway."

"On the contrary," Giles teased. "Without the 'up', there's usually not much buggering."

"You know what I mean," Ethan said with a crimped-lips smile. "Talking of such things, I could enjoy an energetic ride just about now. I'd be on top," he offered, seeming to want to please Giles. "Just not actually, well, topping."

"That might be a good idea, considering my leg," Giles said, smoothing his hands down Ethan's back.

Ethan grinned almost evilly and quickly straddled Giles. He reached over to the bedside table and opened the drawer, coming back with the lube. "This is all the tack and saddlery we'll need, I believe."

Chuckling, Giles leaned up enough to kiss Ethan. "Well, I'm certainly not going to let you use spurs."

As Giles sank back down to the bed, Ethan followed, laughing. They started to kiss deeply again, Ethan moving above Giles, rubbing their cocks against each other as they both returned to full hardness. Giles quickly lost himself in Ethan's touch, pushing aside all of his concerns for the moment. It didn't matter; nothing mattered right then except Ethan's body moving against his own.

When they were both breathing heavily once more, Ethan knelt up and opened the lube. He warmed some in his hands and then wrapped them both around Giles' cock, stroking and slicking.

"Oh God," Giles groaned, his hips trying to arch up into the touch, foiled by his bad leg and Ethan's weight on him. "Need you."

Ethan nodded rather urgently, and releasing Giles, moved up the bed a little. "Fingers, dearheart," he demanded with a wolfish grin. Returning the grin with one just as wolfish, Giles held out his hand to Ethan, who slathered two of Giles' fingers with lube. He then seemed to pause to reconsider, before slicking a third.

Smiling even wider in anticipation, Giles tugged lightly on Ethan's shoulder with his free hand. "Come up here where I can reach you."

Obediently, Ethan moved further still up the bed, his legs forced wide apart by the width of Giles' chest. He stared down at Giles. "Please..."

"Love you," Giles said, meeting Ethan's eyes as he reached between Ethan's legs and slid his fingers into his body.

The dark eyes closed, and Ethan's mouth dropped open. "Ohh. Love you too." Ethan fell forward to lean on the headrest above Giles.

His fingers teasing and stretching, Giles watched Ethan's reactions closely, loving the way everything his lover was feeling showed on his face. "You're beautiful like this," he murmured.

Ethan's eyes opened, and he smiled. "Half-dying with need for you, you mean?"

"Begging to be debauched."

"Oh, yes, please!"

Giles chuckled. "Now?" Ethan nodded eagerly, and Giles laughed again. In some ways Ethan was still very much the boy that Giles had met so many years ago. With one more twist of his fingers, Giles pulled them free and urged Ethan back down his body. "I want to be in you. Now."

"God, yes," Ethan said fervently, squirming back down and rising up on his knees above Giles' cock. As Giles used his hand to guide, Ethan sunk very slowly down, taking in Giles inch by careful inch, until he was sitting. Giles' eyes fluttered closed as Ethan's body surrounded him. Corny as it sounded to him, it felt like coming home.

Slowly, almost as if drugged, Ethan began to move on Giles, clenching his arse muscles automatically as he rose up and down. "God, dearheart," he started, his tone dry but his voice somewhat shaky. "If this is what destiny feels like, who could refuse it?"

Doing his best to remain perfectly still in an effort to not aggravate his injured leg, Giles opened his eyes to watch Ethan above him. "This is better than destiny," he murmured, reaching out and threading his fingers with Ethan's. "It's perfection."

"No argument here," Ethan said with a breathless chuckle, his mouth open in a wide smile as he continued to move.

"Could stay like this forever," Giles said, speaking his thoughts as they occurred to him. "No troubles, no pressures, I don't even need to come; just you and me together, linked, as close as we can get."

"That's... that's... Oh, I love you so." Ethan was staring at Giles, looking intense. "We could get closer still," he offered.

Giles tugged gently on Ethan's hands, urging him to lean down so he could kiss him, adding taste to the other sensations he was basking in. He bent his legs up so that he could stay inside Ethan's arse as Ethan moved down._'Love you,'_ he said directly into Ethan's mind, not wanting to give up his mouth now he had it. _'Can never get close enough. Need you near all the time. Don't ever leave.'_

Ethan's thoughts, when they arrived with Giles, were intense and fervid. _'Never. Never wanted to leave. Want to be with you forever. You must stay. You have to stay with me.'_

_'Always,'_ Giles replied, moving under Ethan's body. _'Not letting you go now.'_

Ethan kissed him hard, crushing their mouths together. _'Love you, love you, love you...'_ he repeated mantra-like in Giles' mind, but then suddenly, he broke the kiss and rose up again, sitting back on his heels. "Stop moving. You'll hurt yourself."

Giles looked up at Ethan in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

Ethan glared fiercely down at him. "Deadly. I do the moving."

"I thought you didn't want to top."

The glare became a pout. "Stop being a git. I'm trying to look after you."

The words warmed him even as the absurdity of having this conversation while buried balls deep within Ethan struck Giles. "I'm trying to shag you if you haven't noticed," he said, twisting his hips upwards a little.

Ethan slapped his flank and sat down hard on him. "Stop it."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "You don't want me to shag you?"

"_I_ do the moving," Ethan insisted, tightening his muscles as if to make the point.

Giles caught his breath at the feeling. "You're not though," he pointed out. "You're just sitting there."

"Promise you'll stay still," Ethan demanded, still not moving, but squeezing some more.

"Or what?"

Ethan's smile was decidedly evil. "Or I get off and go downstairs."

Giles snorted, knowing an empty threat when he heard it. "No, you won't."

Ethan's stern expression twisted into a smile. "Okay, got me there." He laughed. "But you're still not going to move."

The way this was going, Giles thought he might just be able to push a little. "How are you going to stop me?"

Ethan's eyes widened in an earnest expression. "Rupert, if you move when I've asked you not to, I'll be very upset. Do you really want to make me upset?"

Giles did the only thing he could do in such a situation; he laughed and pulled Ethan back down to kiss him. "I love you."

After kissing him back and wriggling delightfully, Ethan straightened up again. "I love you too. Now promise."

Giles chuckled. "Persistent bugger, aren't you?"

"You should really know that about me by now, and I still hear no promise." Ethan squeezed his arse once more and then gave a little wriggle.

"No, you haven't," Giles agreed, giving Ethan his best Ripperish grin. He closed his hand around Ethan's cock and stroked it lightly.

"You bastard!" Ethan exclaimed indignantly, staring down at his own cock as if it had betrayed him somehow. And maybe it had as he was in motion again, apparently despite himself, his hips rocking back and forth to thrust into Giles' hand.

"Still want me to stop moving?" Giles asked smugly, being careful to touch Ethan in every way he knew drove his lover crazy.

"Yes. No." Ethan was moving fast now, his gaze fixed. "I don't know. Oh God, I don't want to make the bloody decisions."

"Then don't," Giles suggested, his tone slightly breathless, the sight and feel of the way Ethan was reacting under his touch driving him closer to his own climax. "Just let me love you."

"Yes." Ethan nodded furiously. "Yes. Love me. Please. God, please."

Pulling Ethan back down to him with the softly uttered demand of, "Come here," Giles went back to kissing him, all the while continuing to stroke Ethan's cock. Giles was moving a lot now, his feet flat on the bed, and hips thrusting up into Ethan, but Ethan was too far gone, it seemed, to scold him. Instead, Ethan moaned and writhed, letting Giles control everything, reacting in a way that in another man would seem extravagant, but in Ethan seemed... perfection.

Everything else was falling away, leaving only Ethan and what they were doing, how they were feeling, as Giles' entire world. He never wanted it to end, even as he moved in such a way to bring both of them to climax all the faster.

_'Yours.'_ Ethan's thoughts were fierce in Giles' mind as they kissed roughly. _'Always, forever yours. Yours by destiny. Yours by free will. Mind and body, heart and soul, yours.'_

A wave of possessive love went through Giles at that, overwhelming everything. _'Yes,'_ he growled back, even as they continued to kiss. _'Mine. Always and forever.'_

_'Take. Take what's yours,'_ came the reply, Ethan pushing himself into Giles' hand and then back onto his cock.

_'Come for me, love,'_ Giles bade, wanting to feel it, see it.

He felt Ethan begin to tense as if the words alone were enough, and with just two, three, more thrusts from them both, Ethan froze, shuddering, ragged breath caught and held against Giles' mouth. Warmth spilled between them, coating Giles' belly and chest, and in Giles' mind was a single, simple word – _'Love.'_

The word, with the accompanying feelings, was all the added stimulation Giles needed. With a joyous cry muffled by Ethan's mouth, he let himself go, shaking as he came hard and long.

The pair of them were still and quiet for a long time before Ethan finally lifted himself off Rupert and slumped to the side. "God," he muttered, almost sub-audibly.

"No, just me," Giles replied, feeling full of whimsy. He reached out to keep contact with Ethan.

"Yes." Ethan laughed, turning onto his side and eyeing Giles. "I've always imagined God as being considerably less sticky somehow."

Giles chuckled. "He's probably quite a bit less debauched than I'm feeling at the moment as well."

"I imagine so." Ethan grinned. "That was amazing, dearheart, staggeringly so. But you were very, _very_ naughty."

Giles waved that off. "Some things are more important than my bloody leg."

Apparently lulled into complacency by happy sex chemicals, Ethan didn't complain. He snuggled close, laying his head on Giles' shoulder. "You're in charge from now on," he murmured contentedly.

Full of the same happy sex chemicals, Giles just wrapped an arm around Ethan and didn't argue.


	9. Chapter 9

Later that day, Ethan sat himself down on the sofa, pressed the relevant speed dial number, and waited for the line to ring. It was quickly answered.

"White's Farmhouse."

"Lucy, it's Ethan. Don't worry, it's not bad news, Rupert is doing very well. I just wondered if you could pass on a–"

"Actually, Ethan," she interrupted briskly. "I think it would be better if you told him yourself."

"But I... he hasn't got a phone, has he?" Ethan rubbed his face with his spare hand. Lucy was never easy to communicate with; somehow her very directness made her harder to understand than a more casual speaker. "Or do you mean that he...?"

Lucy laughed. There was a muffled noise at the other end; then a familiar male voice said, "Hello, Ethan. Get distracted, did you? I was expecting to hear from you a couple of hours ago."

Ethan chuckled. It was surprisingly reassuring to hear his mentor's voice. "Hello, Ian. You're a smug git as I believe I may have mentioned once or twice before. So what am I calling about then, oh wise one?"

Ian's voice became immediately serious. "Your brush with your old self."

The wind inevitably left Ethan's sails at that. "Yes," he said tightly. "Ian, er... how much do you already know?"

"Keri visited me. She told me that Chaos was attacking you, except she used a lot more vague and cryptic words."

Ethan could imagine. He decided to start more or less at the beginning. "The Chaos mage who attacked Rupert and me on the train... his magic was, well, far worse than mine ever was. He had obviously passed the soul-selling stage. It was... it unravelled patterns, Ian. It was terrifying. Everything it touched just fell apart, including Rupert..." Ethan heard his voice crack and stopped talking while he tried recover equilibrium.

"But you held him together." Ian's voice was sympathetic as he reminded Ethan of that most important fact.

"Somehow." Ethan could still feel the blinding terror of the moment, the sensation of Rupert's form disintegrating below his hands. "I killed the mage."

"Good. Don't waste any time angsting over doing what you had to do, my boy. That's not murder, that's.... eradicating an infestation."

The reassurance felt unarguably good, but... "The authorities may think otherwise."

"Ah, but that's a pattern that's easy to twist. Slipping unnoticed between the threads – it's the sort of thing our kind does best."

"Except when... oh, I'm jumping ahead too much." Ethan stood and headed for the drinks cabinet; he needed one, it seemed, no matter the early hour. "The Chaos stayed where it hit, getting absorbed into things like radiation. I have no idea why I never even considered that I might have been infected. Trauma-induced stupidity, I guess..."

"You weren't meant to consider it," Ian told him bluntly. "Chaos can be subtle as well as overwhelming. It can sneak into the secret places when you're not paying attention. That you didn't realise what had happened at first is no fault of yours, Ethan."

"Thank you," he acknowledged as he poured out a small whisky. "I suppose it must have been very easy to gain access to me; I'd drained myself so thoroughly of my own power... but I still feel, shall we say, less than perspicacious?" He headed back to the sofa. "I didn't sleep the night of the attack. I'm not sure what I thought I was doing as it was long past the time that the dregs of my magic could do anything to heal Rupert. I fed him as much of my own lifeforce as I dared, but it didn't wake him. One of his young American friends volunteered some of his, and that did the trick..."

Ethan found he could feel nothing but gratitude for Xander's sacrifice. It didn't matter whose energy had been pure enough to wake Rupert, only that someone's had been.

"A willing gift can sometimes be the most powerful energy of all."

"Very true, oh wise one," Ethan teased, knowing he could. Sobering, he continued. "I was sent home the next evening. I think both of us now realise that was a mistake. I... Well, saying I had a dream is a bit like saying I read a story when I mean War and Peace."

"It wasn't a dream." Now Ian sounded completely serious. "It was an attack. Even drained as you were, you were too strong when you were awake and with Rupert; it had to wait until you were asleep."

"That... makes sense." Ethan paused to swig back his drink, wincing as it hit home. "Ian... I believed every word it told me."

"Of course you did," Ian agreed. "It was speaking to your darkest fears, things that you've imagined happening over and over. Everyone has fears and insecurities; that's what it plays on."

Nodding to himself at Ian's words, Ethan confessed, "I broke down. Not immediately – I managed to go five, six days and stay just about sane. But then something happened, and I... I nearly threw away everything that matters." He said the last words in a hurry, trying not to really think about them.

"And that scares you still."

"'Terrifies' would be more accurate. I turned myself into a fox and made a spirited attempt to wipe my mind of who I am."

He heard Ian let out a soft breath. "You don't do things by half, do you, m'boy?"

"I'm not known for moderation," Ethan agreed sheepishly. "Rupert saved me, at personal cost to himself. Ian, I need to know..." He took a deep breath and let it out before continuing. "How do I stop this happening again?"

"Do you think it'll happen again?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I wouldn't have thought it could happen before, but it did. Ian, please. I'm..." Ethan closed his eyes.

"Ethan, do you think you'll ever forget how the Chaos felt?" Ian asked gently.

"How sick in my soul it made me? No, I can't imagine forgetting that in a hurry."

"So if you're ever in that kind of situation again, you're going to recognise what is happening long before it gets to that point."

Ethan was far from convinced. "I should have recognised it this time. I should have at least considered the possibility."

"Maybe," Ian said. "But that's just going to make you ever more vigilant in the future, don't you think?"

"Until I get complacent." Ethan's fingers were drawing patterns on the couch cushion, following lines only he could see. "Isn't there anything I can do beyond relying on my own judgement?"

"That's all any of us has to rely on, my boy," Ian told him gently. "Our own judgement."

"That's... That's not good enough."

"Do you trust Rupert's judgement?"

"Completely," Ethan said immediately then sighed. "Except concerning matters to do with his own health and safety."

"You substitute your own judgement for his in those situations."

Ethan really didn't like the sound of that. "I, er..."

"Well, don't you?" Ian asked, hidden amusement in his voice.

"Mean old crow," Ethan grumbled. "That's what you are. A man should be allowed his own deluded logic."

Ian chuckled. "Don't ask the questions, Ethan, if you don't want the answers. Which I know is an impossible thing to ask of you; you always want the answers."

"True enough." He wasn't prepared to give up yet. "There must be something though. A mystical canary that will keel over when Chaos enters me perhaps?"

"Magic is like life; neither comes with a money back guarantee," Ian told him. "You just have to do what you can as you go along."

"So what does that mean? Improvise?"

"Ethan, you walk the patterns, bending them to make your path," The words were delivered in what Ethan had fondly dubbed Ian's 'teacher's voice'. "If something is put in your way, move the threads, shift the picture and go around it. The kind of power that calls to you and me sees the patterns, sees the rules, but doesn't accept that they are absolute. Faced with an intolerable situation, there's always a way to change the rules to your advantage."

"I already know how to suck eggs," Ethan commented wryly. "But your point is taken and well made... and possibly very applicable to a problem that Rupert and I now face." He sighed. "I miss Devon. We've been back in London not even a fortnight, and we've been attacked, Rupert nearly died, I was corrupted and tried to destroy myself, and we're being blackmailed by the biggest bitch since the QE2."

"So it's been a full couple of weeks," Ian said drily.

"You could say that. Fancy a weekend in the big city?" Ethan chuckled.

"What would you do if I said yes?"

"Put clean bedding on the spare bed?"

Ian laughed. "I'll come when you need me, but I think you're going to be busy this weekend, and Rupert doesn't like it when I eavesdrop."

"I'd ask how you know, but I guess it doesn't take much to work out, knowing us." Still chuckling, Ethan put his feet up on the coffee table and leant back. "You're welcome anytime though. I'll always be very glad to see you, emergency or not."

"Thank you, m'boy. I may take you up on that some day."

Something... twitched in Ethan's mind at that. "Yes," he said slowly, "I do believe you will. And what's more, you know it. What's Keri been saying to you, Ian?"

"Dreams within riddles," Ian replied, and Ethan could picture the mysterious smile his mentor surely was wearing. "What else does she ever say?"

Ethan shook his head to himself. "I'm quite certain you're more adept than I at seeing the patterns within those riddles and dreams. I take it that means I'm not permitted to know yet."

"We each have our own paths we have to follow. Although they may intersect for a while, where I must go is not necessarily your destination."

"That's a very indirect way of saying it's none of my damn business." Ethan smiled. "All right, I'll drop the subject. I do have one more student-to-mentor question, if I may, however?"

"Of course." Ian's voice became expansive and dramatic. "What use wisdom if we cannot share it?"

Rolling his eyes, Ethan soldiered on, lowering his voice just in case Rupert was awake upstairs and somehow listening in. "The mage who attacked us. Do you believe, or has Keri said anything to suggest, that the attack was more than simply a random encounter?"

"I think you already know the answer to that," Ian replied seriously.

"Bugger it," Ethan cursed. "I wanted to be wrong. Why? Will there be more? Who are they and why are they after us?"

"Why? Because you and Rupert are who you are. Because of what you will become."

"Guardians and Defenders," Ethan murmured, quoting Keri.

"Natural order and natural chaos intertwined," Ian said. "The two of you together will have a power that hasn't been seen in a very long time."

"If we live long enough to get that far. Hell. Hell and bugger it." Ethan was up and out of the sofa, pacing the floor, ranting in a way he knew full well was petulant. "Ian, we... why us? Haven't we been through enough? Rupert may be a hero, but I'm far from one. What the hell did we do to deserve such a destiny? I don't want it. Take it back. Oh God..." Ethan realised what he'd just said, realised it was more than just words. "It was yours once, wasn't it?" he asked, a little horrified. "Your destiny. But they... they got to the 'Order' of your Chaos before you ever had a chance."

It was a beat or two before Ian spoke. "Your insight is becoming sharp enough to cut. Yes," he said softly. "You've been a target since your first brush with your power; Rupert's been one since you first met. Just as I was; just as Derek was. By luck and by skill, you and Rupert managed to survive those years when you were most vulnerable; others were not so fortunate." His voice got harsher. "You have this destiny, but you also have Rupert; the only way to divest yourself of the former is to give up the latter."

"Never," Ethan swore. There was a noise from upstairs; Rupert, completely contrary to instructions, seemed to be moving about. Ethan frowned and started making his way slowly up the stairs, telephone still pressed to his ear. "Christ. They, it... the Chaos... it nearly made me do just that. Never ever again."

"There's the answer to your original question then. About how you can be sure you won't be infected again. You won't be because you won't allow it."

"You're right," Ethan finally accepted. He paused with his hand on the bedroom door handle and said quietly, "Ian, I'm so sorry about... Derek? Thank you for everything."

He opened the door and went in, a scolding expression ready on his face, and found that Rupert had pulled on a pair of old sweatpants and was balanced on his good leg and his cane, halfway to the door. "Get back in bed immediately!" Ethan said as fiercely as he knew how. "Er, not you, Ian," he added in a quieter voice to the phone.

Ian chuckled in his ear. "Pity. And here I thought you were propositioning an old man."

Rupert, meanwhile, was looking mulish. "You sounded upset," he said, making no move to retreat to the bed.

"Ian, I have to go. _Someone_ doesn't take my authority very seriously. Thank you. Again." Ethan glared at Rupert and pointed with his free hand at the bed. "Now!"

"Are you all right?" Rupert persisted, still not moving.

"Do you want to be spanked?" Ethan threatened, still glaring. He heard Ian chuckling before the line went dead. "Get back into bed. _Then_ you get to ask questions."

"I'm fine," Rupert said stubbornly, but he finally began limping back across the room.

Ethan put the phone down on the side and hurried to help. "How did you even find the bloody cane? I'd warded it! Are we so bonded now you can see through my spells?"

"I know the way your mind works, and I know the feel of your magic when I touch it."

"You're a very stubborn old git, that's what you are." Ethan helped Rupert back into bed and reclaimed the cane. "But at least you're not crawling across the floor on your hands and knees and pulling bedside cabinets over on top of yourself." He smirked ruefully at Rupert.

"I've got better balance than you," Rupert retorted, unable to completely hide a wince as he stretched out his bad leg.

"Dearheart, am I going to have to dig out the bondage gear in order to keep you put? You're never going to get better unless you give yourself a chance to heal." Ethan headed around to his side of the bed and lay on the covers beside Rupert. "I _need_ you better," he admitted. It was the truth, but also a calculated attempt to see if appealing to Rupert's protective instincts might work more effectively than everything else Ethan had tried so far.

Rupert reached over and tugged Ethan into his arms. "I'm going to have to get up eventually, you know."

"Not without me to help you," Ethan insisted. Then he chuckled. "In any sense of the phrase."

"Is that how you plan on keeping me in bed?" Rupert teased.

"If necessary."

Rupert smiled then leant up enough for a kiss. "Having you here might just be enough to do that."

Ethan gave him a weak smile when they parted again. "We need, as they say, to talk."

Rupert's smile faded. "You sound serious," he said.

"I am." Ethan nodded. "Ian just told me some things, things the old bastard has clearly known for a long time as well." Even as he expressed it, the little anger he felt for Ian's reticence faded. Ethan only had to remember what Ian had lost to forgive him just about anything.

"So what did Ian tell you?" Rupert asked, one hand brushing lightly over Ethan's back.

Ethan shifted a little so that their gazes could meet more easily. "Well, remember Keri's wonderful line in old bollocks? This was more of the same. We're meant to be together, and together we will have power of Tolkienesque proportions _if _we make it that far without the enemies of whatever it is we represent destroying us." He cupped one side of Rupert's face. "It wasn't a random attack, dearheart."

Rupert let out a soft sigh. "I would have been very surprised to find out that it was. It was too... focused for something that just happened randomly."

"This is why you have to get better properly. Neither of us can afford– We need to be prepared." Ethan became aware that his hand on Giles' cheek was pressing too firmly so he let it drop. He looked down as he muttered, "The only way to stop future attacks occurring is... divorce."

Rupert covered Ethan's hand with his own. "That's not an option," he said fiercely.

Ethan closed his eyes briefly. After a pause, he looked up. "It seems then, dearheart, we're at war on all sides. Time, perhaps, to call on our allies."

"Indeed, and start researching to see if we can find out more details about why we're suddenly a target." Rupert smiled encouragingly. "Luckily, I've a bit of experience dealing with this sort of thing."

Ethan screwed his face up at the thought of research. "I think we've always been a target, at least since..." He stopped, unsure if he should share Ian's personal life. "While I worshiped Chaos, I think we maybe weren't considered a threat, just another failed pair of potentials. I get the impression there's been many before us."

"Like Ian?" Rupert asked. Ethan offered a rueful smile as confirmation, and Rupert shook his head. "And here I thought I was running away from my destiny when we first became involved."

"Had you not left, I doubt we'd both still be alive. It's a light in which our entire past changes." Ethan leant in to kiss Rupert briefly again before saying, "I'd rather like us to have a future as well as a past, however."

"We will." Rupert took Ethan's face between his two hands. "We're going to figure out who is after us and why. If we're meant to do something, we're going to figure out what that is and do it. We'll deal with whatever is thrown at us. I promise, love."

Ethan knew his smile was less than certain. "Does that include the Wicked Witch of the West End?"

Rupert's returning smile had more than a hint of Ripper in it. "Our dear Francesca is going to find that she's playing outside her league."

"Yes?" Ethan's grin was now a lot more bright and firm. "Are we going to be wicked ourselves?"

"You always make me feel wicked." Rupert leant in and kissed him.

That was nice, but Ethan needed specifics. "What are we going to do to her?" he asked as the kiss broke.

"All in good time, love. We need to have a war council."

"Soon?"

"Soon," Rupert confirmed. His mouth quirked up at the edges. "Although you're going to have to let me out of bed to do so."

Ethan's answering look was arch. "You're allowed out of bed if I'm there to help you, as well you know. Your crime was trying to get up without my aid."

Rupert didn't look the least bit repentant. "I could hear you. You sounded upset."

"And you didn't think buggering up all the healing you've managed so far would upset me further?"

"I wasn't buggering up any healing," Rupert said a bit peevishly. "That's what the cane was for."

Ethan felt he was probably pouting, although it wasn't deliberate. "Why won't you let me look after you, Rupert?" It wasn't as if it came naturally to him, and yet he was trying so very hard.

Rupert sighed. "I am," he said, reaching for Ethan's hand. "But I can't stop looking after you at the same time."

"I believe that's called trying to top from the bottom," Ethan pointed out, his eyebrow raised.

"It's just the truth." He pulled Ethan closer, wrapping his arms around him. "Taking care of you is ingrained. I can't stop doing it."

And in truth, Ethan didn't want him to. He shifted again to lean back in Rupert's arms and snuggle close, letting his hand play over his husband's chest. "I like you in control," he finally said, echoing his words from the sex earlier in the day.

"I don't want to run roughshod over you," Rupert said softly, looking down at Ethan's hand on his chest. "But when you're hurting, I can't help myself."

"I hurt when you hurt," Ethan pointed out. "Especially when it's my fault."

"This isn't your fault, love."

"Some of it is." Ethan kissed Rupert's shoulder. "That's okay."

"Is it?" Rupert asked softly, tilting his head down to meet Ethan's gaze.

Ethan nodded. He accepted his guilt in this matter, what there was of it. "This isn't like when the Chaos was in me. I'm seeing clearly now, dearheart. In most of this, I'm a victim of an attack. But not everything I did was so unwitting."

"But under the influence," Rupert countered.

"No. Not for all of it."

"No?"

Ethan met Rupert's gaze. "In the club, before the attack, that was all me."

"Actually," Rupert's eyes sparkled with humour as he spoke, "I'm fairly sure that was both of us."

Knuckling Rupert's chest lightly, Ethan scolded, "You know full well what I mean. I forced the issue. Compelled you more or less to do what I wanted, which someone –presumably the git in the anorak we saw on the train later– filmed."

"You think I couldn't have pulled back if I wanted to?" Rupert asked.

Ethan didn't actually know the answer to that so he avoided the question. "This is why me having control is a very bad idea. I... I'm still not much more than a sensation-seeker."

Rupert ran a light finger over Ethan's cheek. "You're far more than that, love. You always have been."

Despite his determination to make his point, Ethan found he was melting under the love and acceptance he was being shown. He laughed softly. "You know, dearheart, there was a time when you were quite keen on me showing a sense of responsibility."

"Don't look now, but you have been," Rupert said, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. "With Megan and Kat, with your magic..."

Ethan made a face and lifted his head to kiss Rupert as it seemed altogether nicer than telling his husband to shut up. Before their lips met however, the telephone he'd brought up earlier began to ring.

Rupert quirked a smile at him. "Should I get that or you?" he asked, making as if to get up.

Scowling a little, Ethan pushed down on Rupert's shoulder as he lifted himself up, rolling then and getting off the bed. The receiver was on the chest of drawers. Instead of answering it, he pushed it across the bed to Rupert. "It will be someone asking after you. You might as well tell them yourself."

"You mean I'm going to be allowed to talk on the phone?" Rupert asked teasingly, as he reached for the receiver.

Ethan crimped his lips in reply to the teasing. "If it's one of the girls, tell them I'm sorry I worried them so?" He turned to leave the bedroom.

"Ethan," Rupert called after him. When Ethan paused and looked back around, Rupert smiled and added, "Love you."

He grinned, feeling the words as warmth surrounding him, but all he said was, "Answer quickly, dearheart, or the voice mail will get it." Then he shut the door.


	10. Chapter 10

"Books, pens, paper, laptop, cup of tea... Do you need anything else? Don't you dare move that foot from that stool." Ethan was arranging things on nearby tables ready for the imminent war council, clucking around Giles, who was ensconced in his easy chair, his bad leg properly elevated.

Several days had passed since Giles had been released from hospital, but this was the first time since they'd made it home from the Heath that Ethan had relented enough to let Giles out of bed without pouting at him.

Not that he was to be allowed to move on his own yet; Ethan had continued to hide his cane and only gave in to Giles coming downstairs if Ethan himself was the support he used. So less than an hour ago, they'd made their slow way down to the living room with Giles leaning heavily on Ethan's shoulder for balance and to hold the weight that his injured leg remained unhappy about taking.

Once down, Ethan had settled him in his favourite chair and then proceeded to scurry around, making sure Giles had everything he needed to work and be comfortable.

Looking up at Ethan, who was now hovering, full of nervous energy, Giles smiled and held out a hand to him as he answered his question. "Just you."

After a slow perusal of the space around Giles, Ethan smiled and said, "I'm afraid there's no room for me." Taking a page from Ethan's book, Giles merely looked at his lover and pouted. Ethan laughed. "That really doesn't work for you, dearheart," he insisted, while nonetheless leaning down to kiss him.

"That seems extraordinarily unfair."

"It's a skill one has to master," Ethan told him between small, sweet kisses. "It takes years of practice." He teased briefly with his tongue, darting it through Giles' lips. "You can't expect to just pick it up in a day."

"Hm. Perhaps." Giles reached up and pulled Ethan down bodily for a deeper kiss. "But it does seem to have had the desired effect this time."

Ethan fidgeted before settling on his lap like an overgrown cat, without breaking the kiss, but as their lips parted briefly afterwards, he murmured, "Why on earth would you think I'd want to avoid this?"

"I don't know," Giles murmured in return, leaning in for another kiss, his hand running down Ethan's body as if stroking the aforementioned cat. "But you were looking like a hummingbird, hovering and flitting about, but never settling."

"Sorry." Ethan seemed genuinely chagrined. "Remember, I've spent most of my life caring for no one. Like you with pouting, I'm not very practised."

"You're doing fine, love," Giles assured him with another kiss. "I feel very cared for."

"Maybe I make up in quantity where I fail in quality," Ethan suggested with a wink, wriggling happily and not a little provocatively.

"Have I made any complaints about the quality?" Giles asked with a smile.

"Only that there's rather too much of it."

"That would be a complaint about the quantity part of the equation," Giles pointed out.

Ethan opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment, there was a knock on the front door. His face fell, looking almost frightened for a few moments before he recovered and crimped his lips in a wry smile.

Reacting to the fear he'd briefly seen, Giles kissed Ethan lingeringly. "We're all right," he told him when their lips parted. "It's all going to be all right."

Ethan hugged him fiercely before slipping from his lap and heading out for the door. There was a rumble of male voices, then Ethan returned accompanied by Xander. "Someone seems to be having trouble converting from Pacific Standard Time," Ethan announced dryly.

"Hey," Xander complained good-naturedly. "I know I'm early. It's all according to my secret plan." He walked over and pushed away some of the papers Ethan had arranged on the side table beside Giles in order to perch on it. "How's the English Patient doing?"

"English impatient more like." Ethan snorted and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Ethan would be happier if I stayed in bed until my leg was fully healed," Giles explained.

"I am _not_ going to talk about you two and beds," Xander asserted, but he was smiling. "How is the leg anyway?" He quickly turned to glance around the otherwise empty room and then added in a whisper, "And how's Ethan?"

"He's doing much better," Giles replied in an equally soft voice, throwing a fond glance in the direction of the kitchen. "He recovered quickly once we'd purged the mage's magic from his system."

Xander nodded and gave a half-smile. He reached into his pocket and pulled out folded sheets of white paper, which he handed over. "E-mails from the gang," he explained in his normal voice. "I printed them out for you."

"Thank you," Giles said, unfolding the sheets and glancing through them. "Although I don't remember telling them of my little mishap."

"Now... _one_," Xander started, pointing a finger upwards, "That was no mere mishap. Without Ethan, you'd be just so much squishy wood putty now. And _two_," a second finger rose. "Doesn't family have a right to know when you're hurt?"

The family remark took much of the wind from Giles' sails, but he persisted out of sheer stubbornness. "It was making them worry without there being anything they could do."

Xander seemed unrepentant. "Wouldn't you want to know if they were hurt?"

"Of course, but–" He looked at Xander and let the 'that's different' die before he could utter it. "I'm not going to win this argument, am I?"

Xander leant forward and patted Giles' good leg, grinning warmly. "Nope. Admit defeat with good grace and enjoy your nice e-mails." Leaning back again, he continued talking. "So I take it we're gonna be told some eye-widening truths at this top secret meeting. Any chance I can get a sneak preview?"

"As much of the information isn't here yet, I'm afraid you're just going to have to wait." Giles settled back in his chair and reached for his mug of tea, sipping at it before bringing up a subject that had somehow eluded them up to now. "I do want to talk to you about what happened at the hospital, however."

"Oh!" Xander exclaimed, standing up. "Just one second there, cowboy." He felt in his jacket pocket and pulled out a flattish gift wrapped box, which he handed to Giles. "Open that first."

"What's this?" Giles asked, even as he obediently unwrapped. It was a white linen handkerchief of the sort sold by gentleman's outfitters, folded in the box so that the embroidered corner was displayed. It said, 'for those special occasions'.

Xander's face was all grin. "Now," he said, settling back. "Go ahead with the whole what happened in the hospital speech."

Giles looked at Xander, bemused. "I get the feeling you're expecting it," he said drily.

"Guess it wouldn't be tactful to admit I've been kinda looking forward to it, would it?"

Still looking at Xander, Giles sighed and found himself automatically reaching to take his glasses off. He paused for a second when he realised what he was doing and then deliberately picked up the new handkerchief to clean the lenses. "I suppose I will have to find another way to try and deter you from risking yourself foolishly."

"I didn't consider it a foolish risk. I was warned of the dangers, accepted them, and chose to act." Xander's statement was made seriously, with none of his usual deflecting babble, his gaze easily meeting Giles'.

Giles wasn't willing to let it go so quickly. "Your mind could've been permanently damaged. Or worse."

Xander nodded. "My risk to take. See, one of the fun things about being a grown up is you get to make your own decisions... Or is this a senior Watcher to junior Watcher thing?"

"This is me saying I would have been very unhappy, to put it mildly, if I'd woken up to find you... damaged for my sake."

"Noted and logged." Xander smiled.

"Good." He met Xander's gaze squarely. "I just want to make sure you value your life as highly as you do others."

Xander looked shifty, then looked down, fidgeted a little, and finally opened his mouth to say something that Giles fully expected to be both humorous and deliberately distracting, but he was saved by Ethan's reappearance.

"Coffee with far too much sugar for you, Xander," Ethan said, putting a mug beside the young man. He flapped his hand at Xander's arse, actually making contact a couple of times to Xander's quickly hidden consternation. "We do have chairs, you know," he pointed out in an annoyed tone, trying to restore Giles' papers to the way he'd had them before they'd been pushed aside.

"He's been a bit..." Giles trailed off, trying to think of a descriptive word for Ethan's attention that wouldn't be taken the wrong way.

"Of an old fusspot," Ethan filled in helpfully, smiling pleasantly at Xander now the lad was moving to a chair.

"Hey, fuss away!" Xander replied, offering Ethan a cheeky grin. "Everyone needs a mother, even Giles."

Giles chuckled. "Ethan is nothing like my mother."

He heard Ethan mutter something under his breath. Giles didn't catch what and thought that was probably a very good thing. Xander, closer to Ethan currently, kept his gaze lowered and lips pressed tightly together.

"I suspect that was just proving the point," Giles said drily, although he sent Ethan a fond look.

Xander settled on the sofa. "So you're determined not to tell me anything in advance? You're a cruel man, Giles. Maybe I should just pump Ethan for it." There was a loud and derisive snort from Ethan, who was heading back out into the kitchen, and Giles half-expected to see Xander blushing when he looked back at the lad, but instead saw a broad grin. "Hey, if you can't beat them..." he said, chuckling.

Keeping a totally straight face, Giles replied, "Yes, that could sum up my relationship with Ethan rather well."

Xander was still laughing as the doorbell rang. and he stood, raising his voice to tell Ethan that he'd get it.

***

"So," Kat said, settling back on the sofa beside Xander. "Are you going to tell us now why you've called us all here?" She grinned. "I always wanted to say that."

"The butler did it," Ethan supplied helpfully.

Their small war council was gathered now, and 'small' was what it was. Two old men, a one-eyed man-boy, a prim young woman, and two teenage girls – it seemed precious few to face... whatever it was that they were facing. Something evil and Chaotic that wanted them dead. Oh, and the wonderful Francesca, of course, a separate but highly unpleasant problem.

Ethan found he was feeling more than a little embarrassed being back amongst these people who had witnessed his headlong dive off the deep end after Francesca's parcel had arrived. As a result, he suspected he was acting just a little churlishly. All the comfy seats had been taken, and rather than grab a hard chair or even, as Megan was doing, perch on a chair-arm, he was leaning on the frame of the kitchen door, keeping separate from the council.

He wanted to go to Rupert. He wanted to sit on the arm of Rupert's chair, or even better, in Rupert's lap. But he doubted Rupert would want him there while he was trying to chair such an important meeting. It was better Ethan stayed where he was.

"The butler never does it," Megan piped up. "Because everyone suspects he has. It's always who you least expect."

"Which would therefore be the butler," Ethan insisted. "As everyone, sweet thing, thinks the same way you do." Megan grinned and stuck her tongue out at him.

"Well, since none of us have a butler," Rupert broke in, "I'm fairly certain we can lay to rest any suspicions that he is the culprit in this situation."

Pamela coughed. It seemed an innocent cough, but when Ethan looked at her, sitting primly in the other easy chair as she was, he noticed what he thought of as her Princess Di smile hovering on her lips, as she shuffled the papers on her lap. "Throat lozenge, dear?" he offered drily.

Rupert shifted in his chair. "To deal with our more immediate and less life threatening problem, I've asked Pamela to see if she could ferret out information on Francesca Travers and the possible location of the... items she has."

Ethan knew Rupert had told everyone the bare bones of the blackmailing when he'd called them about the meeting. They all knew the situation with Francesca, although not yet the Chaos threat.

"Well, actually, sir," Pamela started, that strange smile still hovering about her lips. "I've been making friends with Miss Travers' household staff. In particular, her butler-"

"I knew it!" Ethan interjected. "Didn't I tell you?"

"The exception that proves the rule," Megan dismissed. She turned to Pamela. "What did you find out?"

Pamela was clearly enjoying her moment. "Well, it just so happens that Joseph Franks, the man in question, is not terribly fond of his late employer's daughter, and he intends to be moving on shortly. I was able to put him in the way of an interview for my aunt's household in Shropshire and then took him for a celebratory tipple or two."

Xander chuckled and then looked at Rupert. "Better watch it, Giles, or MI5 is going to steal her away."

Despite himself, Ethan walked a few steps further into the room. "Pammy, I'm impressed. Truly."

She smiled at him, even letting the shortening of her name pass, hackles unraised. "Well, to cut a long evening short, it seems Francesca is in the habit of using her father's study when working at home, and he'd had installed a strong wall safe, which is hidden under a portrait behind his desk. Joe wouldn't tell me the combination, although he obviously knows it, but he did say that the numbers were in full view in the office as Quentin was prone to forgetting them."

"If it was anybody else, I'd say that was too obvious," Rupert said, tenting his fingers in front of him as he spoke. "But Francesca lacks imagination."

"And just wants to do what dear old daddy would have done," Ethan added. "Sounds promising to me. Will it have magical protection?" he asked Rupert, already working out where Rupert's largely improvised plan was most likely going.

"Quentin was very much into tradition and frowned on going outside the Council for anything. There most likely will be traditional spells of protection on the safe of the type that the Council has used for centuries. I can teach them to you, although," Rupert smiled at him, "I doubt you'd have much problem bypassing them anyway."

"So the plan's a heist?" Xander asked.

"And I'm the Raffles in question, I believe," Ethan said, smiling back at Rupert and finally walking over to stand by his chair.

"I have a copy of most of Joe's keys," Pamela offered, her helpful tone in no way covering up how smug she clearly felt. "I borrowed some of those handy wax kits from Thackery's department. Joe became rather amorous at one point, and I allowed that to continue long enough to practice a little sleight of hand. While he was in the gents, I made impressions of them all. Thackery himself made them up for me." She produced a largish bunch of shiny new keys and passed them to Ethan. "I've no idea which fits what however."

"That's fine." Rupert reached up and rested a hand on top of Ethan's. "Finding ways into places he shouldn't be in is an old skill of Ethan's."

"Yes, I've seen his rather depleted file," Pamela answered rather archly, but there was a twinkle in her eye. Ethan wondered, not for the first time, if this delightful sense of humour had always been there, and he simply hadn't noticed it because of his Council prejudices. She had seemed so prim and correct when they'd first met. Of course, he'd hardly been at his shining best himself.

He stuck his tongue out at her. "There were a number of discrepancies I found in the file, and so I decided it needed a nice spring clean."

The girls both giggled as Rupert gave a mostly mock-weary sigh. "You will, of course, provide a corrected version to replace it," he said, looking at Ethan. "Which I will double-check."

Ethan had no intention of doing anything of the sort, but he knew he could procrastinate indefinitely providing he appeared willing. "Yes, sir," he said with a smile, before turning back to Pamela. "Do you have anything else for us, Mata Hari?"

"Only what Mr Giles asked me for, Raffles," Pamela replied. She handed him a folder to pass on to Rupert. "That's everything we know about Ms Travers up to and including the names of her dogs."

"Big dogs?" Xander asked.

"The biggest," Pamela supplied. "The Travers' have bred Irish wolfhounds for generations, including several Best of Breed winners at Crufts over the years."

"Do they use them as guard dogs?" Megan asked, and Ethan could practically see the gears turning in the girl's head as she tried to formulate a plan.

Pamela smiled gently at the girl. "Not officially, but the ones Francesca keeps in London with her have free range of the house and aren't likely to welcome intruders."

"So we better pick up some sausages or something before we go," Xander said. "Good thing to know."

"We?" Ethan asked, eyebrow raised.

Xander met his gaze. "What, you didn't think you were going to do this alone, did you?"

"I thought maybe, Megan?" Ethan offered. Megan straightened up at that, the hint of a smile touching her lips. Ethan looked at Rupert, at last sitting down on the arm of his chair.

Rupert, however, was frowning. "I don't know–"

Ethan frowned in turned. "Rupert, Francesca isn't the only person after us. Not only do I need Megan or Kat with me for this, I want one of them with me _whenever_ I go out, and for the other to be with you. At all times when we're not together."

Rupert stirred, and Ethan knew exactly what was going to be said, so quickly pre-empted him, turning to the rest of the room.

"Rupert and I have fallen victim to fate," he revealed. "To vaguely worded prophecy, no less. As a result of what we are becoming when we're together, there is a force of evil wanting to destroy us. That's what was behind the attack on us in the train. More will inevitably come."

This pronouncement was greeted with a long silence.

Finally, Xander stirred and asked, "So, this prophecy, are we talking end of the world type prophecy or just Chosen one type prophecy?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Ethan replied, very carefully not turning to look at Rupert, whose reaction to his revelations he wasn't sure he wanted to know about. "The powers that be, who in this case would be a coven of _so_-very-much-wiser-than-thou witches in Devon, are choosing to release information in a thoroughly pinchpenny fashion."

"There is no end of the world imminent," Rupert put in, sounding calm and reasonable. "Although admittedly someone is going to a great deal of trouble to try and get Ethan and myself out of the way. I would guess that we are destined to do something that will annoy them. Other than stubbornly continuing to breathe."

"What sort of threats do you estimate we can expect, sir?" Pamela asked seriously. "More of the same, or might they vary their tactics?"

"Whatever," Kat interjected. "We're sticking close to our Watchers from now on." Megan nodded determinedly.

"We're perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves," Rupert said with much dignity.

"No, we're not." Ethan immediately refuted. "Having a Slayer with us that night could have made all the difference." Apart from anything else, they wouldn't have had public sex to be blackmailed about had a Slayer been there.

"Yes, one more target to keep those magic... grenades away from." Rupert shook his head, looking stern. "I won't condone putting a Slayer in unnecessary danger."

Ethan stared at his husband. "Rupert, you send them to _hellmouths_."

"Exactly," Rupert replied, looking back steadily. "They have their own destiny and enough of their own dangers to face."

"Hello?" Kat said. "Are you really telling us, Giles, that Buffy never protected you? 'Cause from everything you and Xander have told us, I kinda find that hard to believe."

"Oh, she protected him alright," Ethan said sourly. Rupert had fine and logical thought processes except where they concerned himself.

"Not in the way you mean," Rupert argued. "It was my job to teach and watch over her, not the other way around. Watchers don't use Slayers as bodyguards. That's not a precedent I'm willing to set."

"How about friends looking out for friends?" Xander put in.

Ethan was scowling. Rupert had effectively made it so, if Ethan persisted and won the argument, and the Slayers played bodyguard and got themselves hurt, it would be Ethan's fault. And remembering how he'd felt when Megan had been hurt, Ethan really didn't want to ever face that again. But the fact was, he and Rupert _did_ need more protection than their own power provided. Maybe they wouldn't when they were more adept at combining their magic, but for now it was essential.

Upset at the idea that he had to choose between his charges' safety and his husband's, Ethan stood, intending to leave the room. Rupert reached out and grabbed his hand, holding him there. Along with his touch, there was the barest ghost of Rupert's magic as well, wrapping around Ethan's hand and sinking into his skin, comforting as well as restraining.

"Friends maybe, but they're still our charges, our students," Rupert replied to Xander, while still holding onto Ethan's hand. "It's not right, Xander."

"You not letting us help isn't right either," Megan spoke up, her voice sharp with denial. "If you came across a prophecy that put someone else at risk, you wouldn't be arguing the point. We'd be guarding them until we knew what was happening. Why is it any different just because it's you?"

"Too right," Kat agreed. "You've got a destiny, okay. But we've got one too. Let us do our jobs, Giles."

Ethan looked between the girls, feeling so grateful it almost hurt. He swore to himself he'd put as much energy into protecting them as they would protecting him if only they could get Rupert to agree to this. Using his strong emotion to fuel the power of his thoughts, he sent to Rupert, _'Listen to them. They make sense. If you can't value yourself the way we do, try to value this mysterious role we're destined to play. You can't afford to be stubborn here. You can't afford to let the Chaos win.'_

Rupert's expression remained his most stubborn, until his face all but crumpled. "Fine," he said sourly. "I can't very well stop you, it seems." The emotion that Ethan thought he could most sense from Rupert, however, was guilt.

_'I love you,'_ Ethan sent, trying to reassure. Out loud, he added, "Don't see this as self-serving; see it as world-serving, dearheart. You're an international asset currently; we both are." He was trying his best to find a way of presenting things that would work for Rupert. It was becoming increasingly worrying to Ethan how little Rupert seemed to value his own hide.

Kat left the sofa and came to crouch in front of Rupert. "It'll be all right, Giles," she said almost gently. "Let us look out for you the way you look out for us."

Rupert managed a smile for her, reaching out and touching her shoulder. "I appreciate the determination. And affection."

Pamela gave a little cough. "Perhaps, girls, you'd like to liase with me? I can work out a suitable schedule."

Megan smiled. "Works for me."

Ethan felt guilty, never his favourite emotion and one he'd spent a great deal of his life trying to eradicate from his repertoire. He'd, yet again, forced Rupert into doing something against his will, and it wasn't hard to sense how unhappy Rupert now was. Sitting back down on the chair arm, Ethan freed his hand and rubbed his face, remaining silent.

"So," Kat said, rising to her feet and returning to the sofa. "When do you guys go do the Grand Theft Larceny thing, and what do Giles, Pamela and I do while you're doing it?"

Rupert shifted again, resting a hand on Ethan's leg and visibly yanking his mind back to the matter at hand. "There's an important Council meeting scheduled for four days from now; I'll have to be there. Francesca will be there as well. That will be a perfect time to break into her house."

Ethan nodded, pushing down his uncomfortable emotions. "So I'm taking Megan and Xander then?" He stared hard at Xander. "I'm in charge."

Xander held up his hands. "Like I have any experience with break-ins. I yield to the master."

Ethan couldn't resist smirking evilly at the lad. "I won't be too harsh, promise," he said in his most lecherous voice.

"You can't unnerve me," Xander replied with aplomb. "Megan will protect me from your evil designs."

Kat giggled. "What is he, a demonic fashion consultant?"

Ethan giggled too, cheering up a little. "There are some who would agree with that assessment of my sartorial style, but considering what they themselves wear, I don't feel obliged to listen."

"Evil designs," Xander repeated. "As in designs on doing evil. Evil plans, and no, I'm not saying he's a demonic architect," he added when Kat opened her mouth again. He shook his head with mock dismay. "What is the younger generation coming to?"

"Oh, like you're so old," Kat countered.

"Old in experience," Xander assured her. "I was helping to fight the forces of evil when you were still wearing your hair in pigtails."

"That was yesterday," Megan pointed out.

Smiling beatifically around the room, Ethan squeezed Rupert's hand on his leg, feeling warm and, despite everything, spontaneously happy. These people were his friends. Yes, even Xander, and somehow he didn't think the American would disagree with any seriousness. Their time together with Rupert's unconscious body seemed to have bonded them.

The last time Ethan had anything even approaching a group of friends like this had been back during his London days with Ripper. But they'd all been so shallow then, so out for thrills and fun. He'd been fond enough of the others, but frankly, Ripper aside, he never really missed any of them. It hadn't been like this.

This was both terrifying and wonderful. Terrifying because the thought of losing any part of this bothered him hugely; wonderful because... because he never thought such acceptance from anyone but Rupert would be possible.

"It's all going to be all right, you know," he announced warmly. "Really, it is." And then froze as everyone was staring at him, and he realised that had probably sounded rather odd coming from him of all people. "Er, I've been working on improving the Pollyanna aspects of my personality?" he offered with an embarrassed grin.

"I suppose that means I have to work on being the jaded cynic," Rupert said with another mock-weary sigh, but the look he gave Ethan was warm and affectionate and completely understanding.

As Ethan stared back into Rupert's eyes in a way that was quite possibly doting, he heard Pamela shift in her chair. "Um, sir? Would you like me to attempt to research this threat against you both? The non-Travers threat, that is."

Rupert blinked, seeming startled by the question, perhaps by the idea that someone other than himself would do the necessary research. "I... er... Certainly. If you... Of course."

"Do you think the coven in Devon could be convinced to liase with me about it?" she asked. "Or am I incorrect in my assumption that they know something about it all?"

The question seemed to jumpstart Rupert's brain from the standstill it had gone into. "They certainly do know something, and I'm sure they'll talk to you. Whether you can get any relevant information out of them... Well, that's something Ethan and I are still working on, but it would certainly be worth contacting them."

Pamela made a note in her PDA and then tutted quietly. "So many irreplaceable books lost," she said sadly, clearly thinking about the destruction of the old Council headquarters. "It's a very good thing that not everyone on the Council was as against the new technology as the old guard, or we would have lost everything."

"Things just aren't the same on a computer," Rupert grumped.

"Yeah, which is why you had Willow transfer all your books onto her hard drive before you left Sunnydale a few years ago," Xander put in.

"Some of Rupert's best friends are computers." Ethan smirked down at him. "Really, he has nothing against them."

"Yes, thank you, Pollyanna," Rupert replied mildly.

"Permission to kiss the Head of the Council?" Ethan asked, still smirking.

"Like you've ever asked before." Rupert smiled and reached up, pulling Ethan down with a hand grasping his shirt.

Ethan kissed him softly, but then pulled away, putting a finger to Rupert's lips. "I think someone needs to say 'meeting adjourned'," he said casually, without looking around.

One of the girls, Megan he thought, giggled.

"No need," Xander said, standing up. "You don't have to throw us out; we know when we're superfluous. Come on, girls, let's get out of the way before they start doing things I'm trying really hard not to think about."

"I'm staying right here." That was Kat.

"Yeah," Megan agreed in a softer voice. "It's really nice to see them like this again. You know, after everything that's happened."

Ethan frowned, sighed, and turned around. "Girls, can you call around again this time tomorrow? I... There's something I want to talk to you both about."

"Sure, Ethan," Megan said, smiling. Kat also nodded agreeably.

"Good." Ethan grinned. "Now bugger off, sweet things. Rupert's tired and needs to be tended to." He winked at them.

"Oh yes, I'm a complete invalid, about ready to keel over," Rupert said drily.

"See?" Ethan added as if Rupert's words had been sincere. "It was lovely to have you, especially _you_, Xander. See you again soon. Door's that way. Goodbye now."

One by one, they all filed out. As Pamela, the last to leave after collecting her papers together, moved into the lobby, she glanced over at Ethan, who was settling onto Rupert's lap. "You'd better get him straight to bed with something warm," she suggested with a completely straight face, before shutting the door.

"You've been a bad influence on her," Rupert observed, even as he wrapped his arms around Ethan and leaned in for a kiss.


	11. Chapter 11

Uneasy sleep and bad dreams used to be a regular occurrence in Giles' life.

Guilt and the weight of the responsibility that he couldn't shirk used to haunt his subconscious and disturb his rest on a nightly basis, but over the years he'd come to better terms with what he had to do. Sharing the responsibility, as well as doing his best to keep the worst from happening in spite of what had to be done, had gradually quieted the bad dreams. Good nights of sleep had begun to outnumber the bad nights.

This, unfortunately, hadn't been a good night.

Ethan stirred beside him and snuggled closer, a sleepy hand sliding up Giles' chest from his belly. There was a short pause and then, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Giles covered Ethan's hand with his own, concentrating on the feel of his lover beside him and trying to banish the images that his subconscious seemed determined to inflict on him. "Just some bad dreams," he said, pushing away the memory of Buffy lying dead in front of him. '_Never again_,' he thought. '_Not for my sake_.'

"Huh?" Suddenly seeming much more awake, Ethan pushed himself up and stared down at Giles. "What did you dream about?"

Giles shook his head. "It's nothing. Old dreams."

Ethan frowned. "Don't do that. It hurts."

Another sliver of guilt went through Giles at that, and he pulled Ethan down into an embrace by way of apology. "It really is just old dreams, love. Things I've been dealing with on one level or another for years."

"Since Randall died," Ethan stated.

"No," Giles replied quickly, surprised at the invocation of that name. Then, thinking about it, he admitted, "Well maybe. But not... The dreams started when I got to Sunnydale."

"I saw a glimpse of your dream, I think," Ethan admitted, his fingers restless on Giles' shoulder. "This is about what was decided yesterday, isn't it?"

"Putting the girls in harm's way for my own protection?" Giles asked, some of his disapproval leaking into his voice. "Yes, quite probably."

Ethan was silent for a few moments, then said, "All right. We tell them we don't want their help."

Giles tilted his head, trying to meet Ethan's eyes. "Just like that?" he asked softly.

"Yes. I'll just have to hope they get me first. Experiencing your death would be a mite unpleasant for me." Ethan's words might have been flippant, but his tone certainly wasn't.

"You're angry," Giles stated the obvious.

"Really?" Ethan struggled out of Giles' arms and sat up, facing away from him. "What on earth do I have to be angry about, Rupert?"

"I agreed to the plan, like you all wanted." Giles sat up himself, feeling anger licking at his own thoughts. "But that's not enough? I have to bloody well change my feelings to satisfy you as well?"

Ethan turned, and his face was contorted with strong emotion. When he spoke, it was low and raw. "If you can't value yourself, if you can't see yourself as important, then it won't matter how much we all try to protect you. You might as well go out and throw yourself under the next number ten bus to go along our street."

"This isn't about me," Giles argued, exasperated. He let out his breath and ran a hand over his face, then tried to explain. "Or maybe it is. I've stood and looked down at the body of my Slayer once; I've seen girls who were relying on me to keep them safe die in horrible ways. It takes a piece of your heart and soul each time it happens. I don't want to experience that again." He looked at Ethan. "I don't want you to have to experience it either."

"That doesn't work as an argument when you're the head of an organisation designed to train and assign these young girls to fight demons and worse. This isn't about the destiny of Slayers. This is about you and the blood that you imagine is on your hands." Ethan grabbed one of Giles' hands and attempted to show it to him by means of an illustration.

"Yes," Giles freely admitted, not pulling away although part of him wanted to. "It is. And the blood that is on my hands isn't the kind that you can wash away."

"Because it isn't really there." Ethan let Giles' hand drop. "Rupert, do you love me?"

"You know I do."

"Do you want me to be happy? Sane? Not... evil?"

"Of course," Giles replied, not able to see where Ethan was going. "You know all this."

"Then can't you..." Ethan seemed to be struggling to get the words out, and his voice was thick with emotion. "Can't you give a damn about yourself for me even if you won't for yourself? Please?"

Responding to Ethan's pain, Giles reached out, pulling Ethan to him. "I do care about myself, love, I promise. It's just..." He sighed, not sure he could find the words to explain his feelings, or that could make Ethan understand. On the other hand, if he could explain it, he would be better able to debate the reasons for the changes he wanted to the system. "Bear with me while I try to find the words?" he asked softly.

Ethan nodded, and after a pause, snuggled close to Giles again.

When he finally started to speak, Giles didn't think about how to say anything. He just let the words come. "All my life, from the time I was a child, I was told the Slayers were weapons. They were the tools we were to use to defend humanity against the forces of darkness. We weren't to get attached or to allow ourselves to feel for them because they were merely tools. And tools were expendable."

He felt Ethan take a breath, ready to speak, but all he said in the end was, "Bearing with you."

Giles paused long enough to nuzzle Ethanr's cheek in gratitude before continuing. "I was taught that I was to find this teenage girl, teach her, train her, then send her out to face all sorts of evil. I wasn't to get attached, and indeed, I was told that it would be better for me to not even think of her as human. It would make it easier on me when I had to send her to her death. Not if, _when_."

Ethan's hands started to move on him in smooth, soothing movements. "I know," he said quietly, but he didn't seem to be able to stop some of his old hatred of the Council coming out. "I also know individual Watchers weren't valued a great deal either. All that matters... mattered were the twin causes of Order and humanity uber alles."

"They were valued more than the Slayers. Our name says it all, Watcher. You weren't supposed to do anything but train and send the Slayer out. You weren't supposed to get involved beyond that. After all, what did it matter if a Slayer died? Another would be called. A Watcher though, if he was killed, it wasn't so simple. A new one had to be trained and educated and seasoned in the field." Giles shook his head. "The Council believed that Watchers were worth more than the Slayer, and that was just wrong."

"You're right," Ethan agreed.

"I never believed it. I never tried to treat Buffy that way." Giles smiled slightly. "I doubt she would have allowed me to get away with it even if I had. But there were still times I had to send her out, ask her to do difficult, impossible things. And those times..."

"So what is your solution to this? Train the girls, but never let them fight? They have drives and instincts, Rupert. Even I've seen that."

Giles sighed. "I don't have a solution, beyond doing what I have to do and allowing them to do what they have to do, but the feelings remain."

Ethan, after a few moments still, chuckled quietly. "Have you ever considered you may be in the wrong job, dear?" He drew back and put a finger over Giles' lips to stop him answering. "We are agreed that Slayers need to, well, be Slayers, yes?" The finger didn't move.

"It is what they are," Giles replied, his lips moving against Ethan's finger.

"Then it's presumably better that they have the right training and support to stand the best chance of long-term survival in the field, yes?"

"Which is why I do the job I do. Why I can't leave it up to the Francescas of the world."

"Exactly." Ethan took his finger away and briefly kissed Giles. "So let's see. You are important to me because I would go mad and die without you." He said it very matter-of-factly. "To the world, because of whatever it is we're fated to do or stop happening. And to all the Slayers, present and future, to ensure their rights and improve their quality of life... That's ever so slightly damn important, isn't it, dearheart?"

Giles could see the logic, could see the point Ethan was trying to make, but the idea that his life was worth those of the Slayers was not one he'd ever be able to embrace in his heart. "You make perfect sense," Giles told Ethan, brushing fingers along his lover's cheek, "but I fear I'm still going to have bad dreams."

While Ethan didn't exactly look happy at that, he nodded, accepting it. "Will you at least talk to me about them when you have them, rather than pretend they're not important? I promise not to be angry anymore."

It was a reasonable request, no matter how difficult it might prove for Giles to comply. He'd asked the exact same thing of Ethan; he couldn't very well refuse to do the same. "I'll try," he finally said. "Sometimes I don't remember much about them beyond the feelings."

Ethan stirred and pushed gently at Giles. "Lay back. Tell me what you remember of this one. I won't say much; just hold you."

"The holding part sounds good," Giles admitted, letting Ethan push him back against the pillows.

Arranging himself half-over Giles, Ethan wriggled until they were both comfortable, curling his fingers into Giles' hair at the side of his head. "I saw Buffy," he prompted gently.

Giles sighed, the memory of Buffy's death flashing through his mind again. "Yes. One of the worst moments of my life."

"Tell me?"

He'd never talked about it before; all those who would have needed to know had been there and had seen it as it happened. "We were fighting Glory, a Hell God. She was trying to get back to her own dimension by using the Key. Dawn."

"Key?" Ethan asked, sounding confused. "What key? Wasn't Dawn the littlest of the little girls?"

"For all intents and purposes, that's what Dawn is. Now. But she hasn't always been." He looked curiously at Ethan. "What do you remember about her?"

Ethan looked somewhat blank. "Erm, brattish? Slayer's little sister. Kicked me in the shins, as I recall. That's about it, I think. Oh, wait – long hair."

Giles smiled slightly, always fascinated at how complete the spell regarding Dawn's existence was. "You never met her," he said.

"No, I did," Ethan insisted. "A couple of times, I believe."

"No, you didn't. She didn't exist when you were in Sunnydale."

"Is there a punchline to this joke at all, Rupert?" Ethan sounded slightly peeved.

"Dawn is the Key, a mystical manifestation whose power is to break down the barriers between dimensions when utilised at the right time and place. Glory wanted to use the Key to get back to her own dimension. So the monks whose duty it was to keep the Key safe sent it to the Slayer in a form that they could be sure she would protect. They made the Key into Buffy's sister."

"Oh." Ethan was quiet a little while, clearly digesting that. "So we're all the punchline then? Everyone who remembers her before a certain point? Clever monks, I must say."

"Indeed," Giles agreed then offered, "We've all found it easier to just accept those memories as real."

"You must have considerably more of them than I."

"A whole relationship's worth, yes," Giles confirmed. "It brings up some interesting questions about what exactly the nature of reality is."

"Fluid and malleable as I have long told you." Ethan raised himself enough to grin at Giles, but the grin fell into seriousness as he continued. "Fighting a Hell God seems unwise, at the very least, and hardly a job for one Slayer and her trusty but _small_ band of heroes. Where were all the other Champions of the world's integrity at this point? Or even people like me, who couldn't care less about good-doing, but would rather like the world to remain in one piece?"

Giles sighed and closed his eyes, remembering the feeling of being the only ones standing between the world and destruction. Again. "Where are they ever? It always seemed to be just us against the apocalypse."

"And this time, it wasn't enough? Or at least it was, but at a cost none of you would have chosen to pay. My poor Rupert." Ethan's fingers moved in Giles' hair, the movements a gentle massage.

It felt good, comforting. Having someone he could lean on was still a new experience. "It was worse because we'd thought, I'd thought... Glory shared her body with a young human man. Buffy defeated Glory, beat her so badly that she retreated and the human personality came to the fore. To keep Glory from coming back after Buffy again, I killed him." He sighed again, feeling unutterably old. "We thought the danger was over, that we had won."

Ethan's face was a picture of concern. "Oh, that must have hurt. Even before what happened, happened... I wish I'd been there to take that burden of his death. It would have weighed considerably less on me."

"It _was_ necessary," Giles said brusquely. "And far easier than... If the ritual started, if Dawn's blood flowed, then the only way to stop all the dimensions from drifting into each other would be to stop her blood flowing. Kill her. We all went into that battle knowing that, and knowing that if it came to that, we'd be fighting Buffy as well because she refused to even consider sacrificing her sister."

Ethan suddenly looked very thoughtful, raising his hand to rub over his mouth, his eyes unfocusing. Giles could almost hear his brain chuntering away, and yet, when Ethan spoke, it was only to ask, "What happened?"

"With Glory dealt with, we thought the danger past, or at least less imminent. But one of her followers had started the ritual in her absence. He cut Dawn, and her blood began breaking down the walls between the dimensions." Giles swallowed hard before continuing; even now, years later, and with Buffy back alive and well, remembering was still difficult. "Dawn had been made from Buffy; their blood was the same. So Buffy sacrificed herself to save Dawn and close the dimensional tear."

Ethan's hands held and caressed. "I know she came back. You told me about Willow and all that she unwisely did. But did you ever even allow yourself to weep for your fallen daughter? And I'm not just talking about one or two escaping tears, dearheart."

"I grieved," Giles insisted. "Although I didn't break down. I couldn't. Someone had to hold everything together." He sighed again. "And even then I didn't see what Willow and the others were planning."

"It's still inside you," Ethan insisted, intensely serious. "Your daughter, or near as makes no difference, died, and that's still inside you. You had to be the strong one; you had to cope, and then she was back, so there seemed no need to grieve. But the pain is there, and it's real, and it's festering. God, Rupert, if there's something I know about, it's the pain of loss and how not to deal with it."

Giles shook his head, denying the pain or denying the need to deal with it, he wasn't sure.

"Rupert, look at me," Ethan said, stern and frowning. Reluctantly, Giles did so. Ethan's fingers soothed and stroked, but his words were far from comforting. "You saw Buffy die. You saw her broken body on the rubble. You could do nothing to stop it happening, nothing to remedy it. You were helpless, and she died, and you buried her, and now you need to weep for her."

Giles shook his head again, denying the feelings that Ethan's words were pulling to the surface. "It's over. She's fine."

"But you're not."

"I'm–" Fine, he was going to say, but the word got caught in his throat.

Ethan smiled sadly. "Can't lie to me, can you, dearheart?"

No, he couldn't, but that didn't mean he had to have a breakdown. "I'm dealing with it," he said quietly.

Ethan crimped his lips. "No, you're repressing it. Not the same thing at all. The dreams are only going to get worse, you know."

"The dreams are nothing new. I've dealt with them all along."

"You are punishing yourself with them. You think you deserve them, deserve the pain. God, I'm lucky you even allow yourself to have me." Ethan was clearly getting pissed off again, for all his promises not to be angry.

"And breaking down, wallowing in a grief that holds no meaning anymore, is somehow supposed to make this perceived flaw in my character better?" Giles asked, his own voice becoming sharper in reaction.

Ethan closed his eyes briefly. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I suppose I'm just scared about what you're doing to yourself." He kissed Giles softly on the forehead. "This is the kind of thing the Chaos will use against you, if my experience is anything to go by. Things like this will become our Achilles heels; the sources of our potential downfall. And..." He sighed. "And if you don't feel safe enough here, in bed with me, in our own house, to let it out, then you never will."

"Bugger." Giles sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. "You don't fight fair," he said peevishly.

"Have I ever?" Ethan asked with a slight smile. "Tell me. Let yourself feel it. Let me hold you."

"I don't know if I can," Giles admitted with raw honesty, even as he let Ethan pull him back into his arms.

Ethan nuzzled against the side of Giles' head. "Just talk, dearheart. Without self-editing. Tell me about her death. Tell me how it made you feel, then and every day after."

"Hollow," Giles said after a moment, those dark days dancing in his memory. "Wanting to just lie down and... stop. Knowing I couldn't. I was strong on the surface because I had to be. But underneath... Underneath, there was nothing. There couldn't be. I couldn't–" He sighed shakily; emotions he'd denied for so long were closer now to the surface than he had ever thought he'd let them get. "So I was just... hollow."

Ethan said nothing, but Giles felt soft lips against his temple and cheekbones. He was clearly expected to keep talking

"The worst part was... We had a robot that looked like Buffy; we were using it to make sure word didn't get out the Slayer was dead. It was a remarkable likeness; it was easy to delude yourself, forget for whole minutes at a time that it wasn't..."

"That it wasn't her. That she was dead. Lost to you."

Giles remembered the completely shattered feeling whenever that happened, all mixed in with the feeling of being stupid for believing for even a second... "Yes," he said, swallowing hard.

"Tell me about your dream, Rupert." Ethan's voice was so very soft beside his ear.

"Failure. Death. My fault." He couldn't describe it any more, couldn't bear looking at it any closer.

"It wasn't your fault. Really, it wasn't. But I know that you feel what you feel. I love you. You've trusted me with this, and I appreciate it." Ethan's hands and lips moved slowly over Giles, finding where he was tense and gentling the taut muscles. His words seemed to be giving Giles permission to stop talking now, that it was enough. "Thank you."

Giles turned and buried himself in Ethan's embrace, allowing himself the comfort and strength that were offered. He felt raw, like his nerves were exposed; he hated feeling that way, would never have allowed himself to get into that state, but Ethan had asked. Considering how often and how much Ethan had shared of his pain and deepest feelings, could Giles have done anything but reciprocate?

A low hum of Ethan's magic flowed through Giles; it felt like a balm. Ethan himself paused thoughtfully before offering, "I don't quite know how to say this without sounding condescending or cynical, which I'm really not, but you've done so well talking about this. I know how hard this sort of thing is on you." Not feeling like replying, Giles buried his face against Ethan's neck, softly mouthing the skin there. Ethan shifted, tightening his arms. "Hmm. It sounded condescending, didn't it? I'm sorry."

"No," Giles said, the apology stirring him to pull back enough to meet Ethan's gaze. "No, it didn't."

"That's good." Ethan moved in and kissed him softly on the mouth.

Giles closed his eyes and kissed Ethan back. "I don't want to hide bits of myself from you. It's just... difficult to talk about some things."

"I know," Ethan said between soft kisses pressed upon all accessible areas of Giles' face. "I won't push anymore today. It's probably time to get up anyway, and feel free to take that as double-entendre."

Chuckling, Giles caught Ethan's mouth with his own. "I fear that's about all I'm up to in entendre territory right now," he apologised when he pulled back enough to speak. "I'm a bit..."

Ethan smiled sympathetically. "I know, dearheart. I was just trying to lighten the tone. I love you, you know?"

"I do know." He traced Ethan's features with a light finger. "I love you too. In case there was ever any doubt."

"Would sir care to partake of breakfast downstairs today?"

Giles smiled. "Are you going to give me my cane back?" he asked, experience allowing him to push away the memories and dreams with only a modicum of difficulty.

Ethan smiled. "All right. You've been a good boy." He hesitated. "Rupert...?"

"Yes, love?"

"If you ever feel able to talk more about this, please try? I..." Ethan paused, then smiled slightly, snorting ever so softly through his nose. "I'll always be here for you."

The words soothed something deep inside Giles that was still a bit raw from almost losing Ethan earlier that week. He leaned in and kissed Ethan lingeringly. "You are very good for me," he murmured against his lips. "And I love you very much."

***

"In here, girls," Ethan said, pushing open the glass door into the Coffee and Bagel Express. "I have to be able to debauch you a little, and if that's only by ignoring the ridiculous American ideas about coffee being only for over-21 year olds, then so be it."

"So this would be a bad time to mention that I not only frequented Starbucks before I came to England, but I worked there part-time too?" Kat asked, smiling at him.

"You girls just love to spoil my fun. Just for that, you can be the one to go to the counter, Kat." He took them to a table as far away as possible from the loudspeakers playing annoying jazz-flavoured blandness. Handing Kat a twenty, he said, "Double espresso, smoked salmon and cream cheese on onion. Meglet?"

"Iced cappuccino and something chocolatey," Megan said, sitting down beside Ethan as Kat headed off to the counter.

"Lightweight," he said, grinning at her. She stuck her tongue out at him. "It's part of a Slayer's sacred duty to be able to function under severe caffeine overdose," he insisted.

"I don't like espresso," Megan replied with a half-shrug. "Besides you still owe me cotton candy."

"Infuriating child," he said with a laugh. "When the current troubles are over, I'm taking you to Great Yarmouth. Or worse still, Southend-on-Sea." He smiled more gently at her. "How are you, Megan?"

"I'm fine," she said with another shrug. "I feel like I should be asking you that."

Ethan persisted. "The last fortnight has to have been hard for you to deal with."

"Well, yeah. But only because we've been worried about you and Giles." She smiled at him. "I'm glad you're both feeling better."

He studied her, unwilling to start on what he had taken them out to say to them before Kat was back. "We, erm, haven't been the best of Watchers to you recently, what with Devon and everything that has happened since."

"You've been fine," Megan said, reaching out and patting his hand. "Really. In all the important ways."

Kat returned to the table with a tray of goodies and started handing them around before sitting down. She'd bought herself a half-baguette, which was huge and bursting with an extravagant quantity of fillings. "Feeling hungry were you, dear?" Ethan asked in a dry tone.

"Slayer metabolism," Kat said just before taking a big bite.

Ethan looked at Megan, who as usual was merely picking at the chocolate cake she'd been bought. "Perhaps we should have you checked over by the medics."

"Nah," Megan disagreed. "Kat's just a freak." Kat just shrugged and took another bite.

Ethan sipped his coffee and looked at them both, his feelings complex. Both girls were at that stage when they were one moment serious young women and the next back to being carefree children again. But however child-like they could seem at times, both were seventeen, had the intelligence and maturity of many 20-somethings, and of course, super-powers.

"Have I ever told you anything about my childhood?" Ethan asked, surprising himself.

Both girls immediately focused on him with interested looks that reminded him of the kind a fox would give a rabbit. "No, you haven't," Kat said. "I take it you're gonna now?"

He grimaced. "It's not a pretty story, and I've no intention of telling you a great deal about it. I... I'll try to tell you some though. If you'd care to hear it."

"Yes, please," Megan said, answering for both of them, eyes shining.

Ethan sighed. He'd had no intention of talking about this when he'd first planned this little chat. He _never_ spoke about these things. Rupert knew, of course, but never commented on what he knew. And while Ethan could see why his brain had thought it was a good idea to start discussing this, he had severe misgivings before he'd even started.

"I was born here, in London. In Enfield, to be exact. I was an accident and an only child. My mother had no interest in me, and I was expected to care for myself from an early age. I was a bit of a dirty, unkempt brat to start with, which eventually attracted the attentions of the social services. Which in turn, attracted the painful attentions of my usually, and thankfully, absent father. I learnt quickly to tend to my appearance, and through theft and other unsound activities, I always looked rather... dapper, after that."

He gave the girls a wry smile. "And so, of course, was called the entire catalogue of deeply unpleasant synonyms for 'gay' long before I knew what they meant, or indeed, that I was."

"Kids use names that they hear at home. It doesn't matter to them what the words mean; they just know that it's bad. That's how prejudices get passed on." Kat said softly with an insight that many wouldn't expect from her.

"You're quite right, of course." Ethan nodded. "Well, I was self-sufficient, rather too intelligent, and by my peer groups' standards, decidedly odd. I had no friends, and while technically I was part of a large extended family spanning half of Enfield, I didn't fit in there either. I did briefly have a dog..." He laughed, not completely bitterly. "But my childhood wasn't completely without fun, for all that I had to create it myself. I was allowed to wander pretty much wherever I liked, do whatever I liked, so long as I never brought trouble home with me. They preferred it when I was out of the house."

"You must have been so lonely," Megan murmured, watching him with sympathy in her eyes. "You needed what Kat and I have. You needed an Ethan."

He felt an alarming lump in his throat at that and looked down, picking at his bagel. "Actually," he said quietly, "By the time I was your age, I had a Ripper."

Kat said gently, "That's almost as good."

"It was a great deal better than good. Rupert gave me everything my childhood hadn't, and a lot more besides. But I'm not meant to be talking about my relationship." He looked up again. "My topic is family, and the fact I haven't really ever had one... until now." Before they could say anything, he added quickly, "I know you both have your own families and that really, we've all known each other a very short time, but..." The words were getting sticky in his throat, harder and harder to say. "But you're the closest thing I've ever had to family. I'll never have children of my own and would never have wanted them, but... oh."

He stopped, embarrassment, and the fear that what he was saying was totally inappropriate, welding the words in his throat.

Ignoring the fact that they were in a public place, Megan moved out of her chair to come over and hug him. A second later, Kat joined her.

Oh God. Wrapping his arms around them both, he pressed his face into their hair, hiding from the curious eyes around them. "I'm sorry," he said, very quietly, finally getting to what he had come here to say. "I'm so very sorry for how I was when the Chaos was in me. Rude and dismissive, bitchy and... and I'm sorry. And for walking out not just on Rupert, but on you two as well. It won't happen again. None of it will." He tightened his arms briefly. "And now, girls, unless you really want me to bawl like a babe in public, please sit back down."

Kat chuckled as she pulled back. Megan followed a heartbeat later, but not before she kissed Ethan's cheek and whispered, "Apology accepted."

They were quiet for a while, Ethan concentrating on eating his bagel and not meeting the Slayers' eyes. Not, indeed, thinking about the conversation they'd just had and the girls' reactions; he was saving that up for when he was alone, or better still, with Rupert. When the food was finished, however, he sat back in the chair and smiled at them. "Seconds?" he offered.

"I think you got my so-called Slayer metabolism," Megan teased.

He grinned. "Well, perhaps you two would prefer I took you somewhere else now? We have the whole afternoon to enjoy ourselves, and I raided Rupert's wallet."

Perking up, Megan said, "Kat's never been to the Eye."

Ethan looked out of the window. "It's a bit dull today for the Eye. Wouldn't you rather go shopping?"

Kat shrugged. "Shopping's fine, if that's what you want to do. Megan and I can do touristy things some afternoon when you and Giles are both busy."

Ethan frowned. "No, this afternoon's for you. Aren't teenage girls meant to love shopping with their parents' money?"

"Depends," Kat said. "Some parents substitute shopping with their money for actual parenting." She glanced meaningfully at Megan.

"Oh. Bugger." He gave Megan an apologetic look. "I was intending to shop _with_ you, you know? Give you the benefit of my superior taste in matters stylish and co-ordinated." He winked at them. "But if you want to go to the Eye, providing it's not fully booked, then that's where we're going."

"I do want," Megan said quietly. "It's just... it's our special place. But maybe we can go shopping after?"

"Very well." Ethan nodded, more pleased than he wanted to admit that they had a 'special place'. "Why don't you two get me a slice of the most totally over-indulgent gateau that they have, and I'll call ahead and book up tickets. Just to make sure there's no disappointment."

"Slayer's metabolism, definitely," Kat teased, as both girls stood up.

"Love of good food shows a love of life, as my dear old Nan didn't used to say." The girls laughed. Ethan watched them go to the counter where they giggled further, clearly trying to decide what to get him. As he removed his mobile from his jacket pocket to dial Directory Enquiries, Ethan realised that he hadn't really managed to quite say any of the things he had planned, but Kat and Megan had seemed to understand.

He vowed to himself again that he would protect and nurture them as fiercely as they would, and indeed had, him. Because they were family and that's what families, true families, did.


	12. Chapter 12

"So how long do we think the Travers family have been skimming off Council funds then?" Ethan asked dryly, staring up at the six-storied Georgian townhouse with its pristine white paintwork and black cast iron accoutrements.

"Quentin wouldn't have skimmed Council funds," Xander argued. "Too 'common' for him. He would've had people who did the skimming for him."

"Ah, but his ancestors might have," Ethan pointed out, sorting through the keys in his hand. "Wouldn't that sound just like a Travers to live smug and comfortable on the profits of past sin, while proselytising order and tradition at anyone who'll listen?"

"Did you ever meet Quentin Travers?" Megan asked, sounding interested.

"Once," Ethan replied tightly, having no wish to go any further into _that_ story. "Well, I think this is the front door key. I do hope Pammy's butler boyfriend has successfully managed to remove both himself and the other staff from the scene of the imminent crime. Are you both ready?"

"Ready and waiting to get with the law-breaking," Xander confirmed.

Ethan nodded. "Try to look like you belong here then. You have every right to be walking up to this door and going in." They were dressed as anonymously as possible, which in this part of Mayfair, meant smart and traditional. Ethan's collar was itching him already.

He crossed them over the road and straight up the steps to the front door, where he immediately noticed to his exasperation that there were actually two locks. There was a large keyhole, which was clearly for the long key he held ready in his hand, but also a small Chubb security lock.

"Damn," he cursed, a pleasant smile on his face. "Talk and joke in a subdued fashion, will you? I should have cloaked us as I'd originally planned."

Xander looked over Ethan's shoulder. "Can't you just wave your hand at it and magic it open or something?"

Ethan laughed, as if Xander had told a funny joke. "What did I just tell you to do?" he asked peevishly through his smile. He had planned not to use magic until they were behind closed doors as he and Rupert had decided magic-detecting wards outside the house were extremely likely, but it looked like Xander was almost right about what he'd have to do.

Megan, bless her, did what she had been asked and started talking about the neighbours' flower boxes, showing a surprising knowledge of chrysanthemums. Ethan studied his keys.

There were three Chubb keys, and he needed to quickly determine which to use. With the lightest touch of his magic he could manage, he felt into the lock, studying the pattern and quickly withdrawing. He was fairly certain he hadn't been detected. Five seconds later, he had the door open and was staring at a very big dog.

The dog stared back.

***

Everyone was staring.

Giles had expected that on this, his first visit back to the Council Headquarters since he'd been injured, and he was doing his best to ignore the stares. He walked through the halls leaning equally on his swordstick cane and Kat's arm, projecting an air of confidence and competence such as befitted the head of the Council.

Somewhere deep in his brain he was busy being amused at the irony of the situation, that he was the one being forced to wear a mask now.

"Are you okay, Giles?" Kat asked quietly.

"I'm fine," he replied, giving her a reassuring smile. "You?"

"Yeah, I just–" She stopped, apparently thinking better of something. "Yeah, I'm fine." Giles suspected she was worried about the others, which was understandable; he was too. Apart from anything else, this was the longest he and Ethan had been apart since that terrible afternoon and the trek across Hampstead Heath.

They reached his offices and walked in, Pamela immediately rising from her seat.

"Sir, do sit down while I collect together what you need. I have tea made for you. It should be just the right temperature."

"Thank you, Pamela," Giles said drily, wondering if Ethan had got to everyone with instructions on how to fuss over him.

He limped into his inner office and sat down with a soft groan in his chair, relaxing the official mask now that he was in private. He leant back and stretched his bad leg out painfully.

"I don't remember it being quite this far to my office," he mentioned to Kat with a rueful smile.

Kat frowned. "Will you be okay in the meeting? Sure you don't want me to come in with you?"

"Oh, I would love to have you come in with me, if for no other reason than it would irritate the hell out of our dear Ms Travers." Giles sighed. "But unfortunately, we have to keep her lulled into a false sense of triumph until we hear from Ethan and the others."

"Are you..." She paused. "I mean, we kinda know... or at least we think that you two, uh... talk in each other's heads?"

Giles smiled, bemused at the question and the observation skills it implied. "What makes you ask that?"

She perched herself on the edge of his desk and watched him sip his tea, which was indeed the perfect temperature. "Xander suggested it, 'cause he says he knows what people look like when they're doing telepathy, and you and Ethan look like that sometimes. So he told us the signs, and now we all know when you're doing it." She grinned cheekily. "Uh, unless we're completely wrong."

"Ethan and I have discovered a certain mental... connection," Giles acknowledged after a moment. "That part is very new, and I'm not sure how reliable it would be over distance."

"That's so cool," Kat said, her grin even broader. "So, like, now you can say all that stuff in front of us that you used to have to send us out of the room for."

"Oh, we'll still be sending you out of the room at times." He smiled faintly. "There are some things for which telepathy doesn't work."

"You should let us stay. Aren't we over here to be educated? Yeah, I know." She laughed.

A quiet knock on the door announced Pamela, and she walked straight over to Giles' desk carrying a fat folder and a leather-bound executive file. She put them both down in front of him. "The meeting starts in ten minutes, sir, but I thought you might like to get there a little early. The file contains your agenda, a jotter, and the index to the papers I have compiled in the folder. There's everything you asked for in there and a few other things that I thought might turn out to be useful. Oh, and there's this..."

She detached a tiny digital pager from her waistband and put it on top of the file.

"Ah, yes. Wouldn't want to forget that." Giles picked up the pager and held it in his hand for a moment. This was how Ethan would let him know the job was completed. Not as satisfying as having Ethan speak directly to his mind, but at this point more reliable.

Giles looked at his watch. According to his estimates, they should be inside the house by now.

***

They were still on the bloody doorstep. "Xander, talk to the nice doggy, would you?" Ethan asked urgently, backing up from the snarling monster. "I think he has foxhound in his ancestry, and I have to get inside to deactivate the silent alarm."

"So, what – I'm supposed to ask if he had an ancestor who was in a Disney movie or something?" Xander asked, staring at the dog with a wide eye.

"I thought you said you were going to bring sausages?" Ethan asked, increasingly concerned, despite the fact that the pony-sized dog hadn't moved from the doorway or done anything more than snarl a little. "Pat it or something. Do try not to let it eat you though; Rupert would never forgive me."

Bugger it, Ethan was going to have to use magic again. They should never have let him plan this or lead a damn team. Things were already going wrong before they'd achieved anything. He should have come on his own.

Rolling her eyes at the two men, Megan stepped forward, confidently saying, "Good girl!" and holding out her hand palm up to be sniffed, which the dog obliging did. Apparently Megan smelled good as it started to wag its tail. After patting the monster's head a few times, Megan took hold of its collar and walked in with it.

Ethan hurried in, shutting the door behind them. The first thing he did was loosen his collar. Then he headed immediately to the alarm control box on the wall. Which key to use was obvious, it not being a door key, and he slipped it into the hole and turned. He now had thirty seconds to punch in a four-digit code he didn't know.

Feeling with his magic into the electronics of the box, it really was a laughably simple matter to sense out the correct pattern of circuitry that would cause the alarm to go dormant. With a small flourish of his hand, he pressed 1-8-1-2 and smiled as the flashing red light stopped and the green light came on.

"Da-dah!"

The other two obligingly clapped their hands very quietly.

Megan said, "Now you can tell _me_ how clever I am." She took a small bottle from her pocket and threw it gently at Ethan. "Francesca's favourite perfume," she explained.

Xander stared at Megan and the dog for a long moment. "You're going to be a great Slayer." When she started to smile, he added, "Either that or the next international cat burglar."

"There'll be two other pit ponies around somewhere," Ethan warned. "Perhaps you can persuade this one to come with us, Megan, as it might make the others friendly." He covered his gloved hands in the perfume, grimacing as he smelled it, then reached for Xander's hands, squeezing them and spreading the stink.

"Try not to enjoy yourself too much," Xander told him, his nose wrinkling as he caught hold of the scent.

"Yes, Xander," Ethan replied somewhat scathingly. "I'd better be careful unless the thrill of touching your hands makes me come over all unnecessary."

He looked around the hallway a little. If it were not for the pristine cleanliness, he'd say the place was unchanged since the Georgian era, such was the attention paid to traditional detail, from the hung paintings to the plaster cherubs around the light fitting.

It made him nauseous.

"Well, I'd say we've made enough noise to attract attention to ourselves, so I will assume the house is empty bar the dogs as planned. We need the second floor... which is the third floor to you two."

"Yeah, because there needs to be a zero floor," Xander quipped as they headed for the stairs. Ethan was beginning to realise that the young man's nerves seemed to fall out of his mouth in meaningless comments.

"When in Rome, Xander," Ethan told him. "Put on a toga and shout for the new boy."

"Does he always talk like this?" Xander asked Megan. "Or does he save the innuendos up for me?"

She giggled. "He does seem to make a special effort just for you."

"I am here, you know," Ethan pointed out, although he didn't bother denying the accusation. The first floor hallway was almost identical to the ground floor. Ethan resisted the urge to smear fingerprints all over the perfectly polished brass light switches and door fittings. Apart from anything else, he'd have to remove the light cotton gloves in order to do something so unwise.

There was another wolfhound curled up at the end of the hall. It raised its head and looked at them, but didn't seem very interested.

Ethan said sourly, "This house is so uptight and dull even the pets are bored and lethargic."

"But that's a good thing," Xander said as if speaking to a small child, his eyes still on the large dog, "for us intrepid trespassers. We don't want them all frisky, looking for new chew toys."

"I thought that was why we brought you along?" Ethan carefully stepped over the dog to the next flight of stairs, then turned around and smirked amiably.

Xander pulled himself up to his full height. "I'll have you know I graduated from being monster chow years ago," he said with utmost dignity.

Ethan chuckled. "And for the record, boy and girl, this is generally not how to break into a place. We're making enough noise to alert half of Middlesex." As he reached the top of the stairs, he located the door that Pamela's research of the blueprints had told her would most probably lead into Francesca's office. "Megan, sweetheart, I want you to stay out here and listen for any unwanted arrivals. The maid may come back early, or worse, a relative with a key could call."

Megan nodded, suddenly all business. "Right."

"So I'm coming with?" Xander asked.

"Yes." Ethan nodded. "I may need a second pair of hands. You will have to obey barked orders very quickly and without argument. Think you can do that?" He quirked an amused eyebrow at Xander in challenge.

"I'll take notes and argue later." Xander became serious. "You can count on me."

Ethan nodded. He rather thought he could.

Reaching out with his magic sense, Ethan felt around the door, but he couldn't feel any wards or other protections. He tried the door handle, but the door was locked. Looking at the keyhole, he decided the key he needed was one of four near identical ones on the ring. Three attempts later, the lock opened.

After smiling reassuringly at Megan and squeezing her arm, he nodded at Xander and opened the door.

***

Giles took a deep breath as he stepped into the Council meeting room, his mask of professionalism firmly back in place.

There weren't many others there yet, which suited Giles just fine, giving him a chance to get in place without limping before all those eyes looking for a weakness.

Leaning heavily on his swordstick, he made his slow way to his seat at the head of the table.

There was a mumble of greeting from around the table, some of the faces genuinely friendly, others hiding dislike behind false smiles, and a more honest few just frowning. Giles settled himself in his chair, arranging the files in front of him, and turned to exchange pleasantries with Higgins, a dull but very worthy ally who had taken the chair on Giles' right.

He hadn't got further than, "How's your wife doing these days?" when the double doors to the meeting room were opened by a pair of nondescript suited types, and Francesca Travers strode in as if she were royalty.

Giles found it hard to believe Francesca had ever been a catwalk model; Ethan had more of the sensual confident strut to his carriage than Giles had ever seen in that woman's militaristic stride. She sat herself right beside him, opposite Higgins.

"Hello, Rupert," she said with a smug smile.

"Francesca," he replied as neutrally as possible. It was either that or lean over and snap her neck. Somehow he didn't think the latter would be the proper way to open the meeting.

"How's your leg?" she asked, completely ignoring one of her suited lackeys as he put a cup of coffee before her – a lackey who shouldn't even in the room. "Are you quite certain you shouldn't have it raised?"

_'Perhaps up your backside, my dear?'_ Giles thought, then wondered when he had started channelling Ethan. "My leg is healing," he said aloud, with his most insincere smile. "Thank you for your concern."

She nodded. "It just goes to show that everything they say about public transport is true. I certainly won't be giving up my driver anytime soon, I can assure you. I trust you received my letter of condolence?"

Giles' smile became tighter, and he was sure some of his real feelings were visible in his eyes. It was impossible to totally contain the anger he felt without some of it leaking out along the edges. "It arrived."

"Good." She smiled again. "I wouldn't want you to think that I didn't care. And how is Mr Rayne? Looking after your needs, one would hope. He does seem to have a certain talent for that. His kind often do, I'm told."

"Ethan has many talents that have come in useful," Giles replied, adding silently, '_as you're going to find out.'_

***

Ethan looked around the office with pursed lips. It was absolutely exactly how he would have expected Quentin Travers' home office to appear, all burnished leather and antique oak. There were age-darkened portraits in oil on the walls, volume upon volume of rare occult tomes on the shelves, and a glass-fronted display cabinet full of unusual, if not unique, mystical items in the corner.

There was magic everywhere.

"Don't touch anything," he said in a muted but urgent voice. "Levitate if you can."

"How 'bout I just step where you step?" Xander replied in an equally hushed voice, looking around the room like he expected something to jump out at them any second.

"I never expected _you_ to want to follow in my footsteps," he answered, chuckling slightly. "The floor seems safe, just don't touch anything else. See if you can spot the apparently hidden in plain sight number for the safe."

Ethan walked carefully around to behind the desk, his magic senses on full alert. The very expensive laptop on the desk seemed entirely free of spells however, so he made the most of that and quickly wiped the harddrive – a stupidly easy thing to achieve with pattern magic. Kat and Pamela were going to be doing something similar in Francesca's office, but they had a high tech instrument to achieve the same thing. It was another present from Thackery, the Council's equivalent of Bond's Q, who was, it seemed, yet another of Pammy's increasing list of conquests.

The area around the painting that covered the safe radiated strong wards and alarms, and there seemed to be an electric current running underneath the portrait which would set off a conventional alarm if the painting were moved at all. It was still live, and so obviously not part of the house's main security circuits. The trick would be disarming the physical defences without setting off the magic sensors.

He sucked air through his teeth. "Well, this will be easy peasy," he said with strong sarcasm.

Xander turned in a slow circle where he stood. "It would be easier to spot the hidden in plain sight number if there wasn't so much stuff in plain sight. Never would have pegged good ol' Quentin as a packrat."

"Oh, I would," Ethan argued distractedly, following his sense of the electrical current, looking for a control box. "The man was the very epitome of Freud's anal retentive type."

Xander nodded, then frowned. "Does that have anything to do with cigars?"

Ethan sniggered, the combination of phallic symbol and things anal too much to resist. "That depends entirely on how _bisexual_ you really are, Xander," he said, smirking over at him.

Rather than bristling or protesting, Xander just rolled his eye. "I had one guy back in high school convinced I was, y'know? I even talked him into coming out. Of course, I'd thought he was a werewolf, and I was talking about being a hyena, and the wires just got crossed in the conversation. This is what comes of going to high school on a Hellmouth."

"Would you rather have grown up somewhere more normal?" Ethan asked. He'd found the control box; it was a fake thermostat on the wall near the window.

"I dunno." Xander shrugged. "I can't really imagine it. Being somewhere and not knowing about the monsters in the night. Or helping save the world on a regular basis. I don't know who I'd be without all that."

"Once we've bitten into that juicy apple, it's hard to imagine ignorance again. Shh a few seconds now. I need to concentrate and do this very, very fast." Ethan took a deep breath, opened the fake thermostat box, felt inside for the pattern, and pressed four buttons. All in under two seconds. He could only hope it was fast enough. "Hurry up and find that number, Xander. We can't afford to waste time here."

"It's not like I haven't been looking," Xander grumbled, as he moved around the room. "But it's the proverbial needle in a haysta–" He broke off, moving closer to the far wall where there was a portrait of Quentin. There was a pause during which Ethan moved to the painting over the safe and removed it. Then Xander said, "I think I found it."

"Don't touch it," Ethan reminded. "Whatever it is." He was starting the relatively complex series of permissions that Rupert had taught him for the traditional Council defences. After a short while, he added, "Two down, two to go; then I'll be right with you."

Xander remained silent and still, but Ethan could sense his tension. It matched his own.

Twist and tug, tug and cajole, cajole and pet... Ethan persuaded the spells one by one to ignore him. He made it seem that he, like Francesca, was someone permitted to be here, touching the valuables. Once it was done, he reached forward confidently, not allowing himself to feel any insecurity about how successful he might have been.

He touched the dial of the lock.

Nothing happened. The magic remained quiescent. Thank God. Turning, he walked over to see what Xander had found.

Xander pointed at the portrait he was still standing beside. "There," he said. "On the bindings of those three books his hand is resting on."

Tipping his head, Ethan looked. There, in tiny little figures, three two-digit numbers were indeed painted. It was a large and very detailed painting, and he wasn't sure that he would have spotted the numbers himself. "Ah yes. For a man with one eye, you have exceptional observation skills. Well done." He smiled warmly at Xander, genuinely impressed.

Xander smiled very slightly and shrugged. "I'm the guy who sees."

Ethan studied Xander briefly. That had seemed to mean more than just the sum of the words. He'd like to ask more, perhaps get the lad to talk about what had happened to his eye, but now was probably not the right time for it. Nonetheless, as he headed back to the wall safe, he asked in a casual tone, "Should I not have done that?"

"Huh? Oh, you mean mention the..." Xander gestured at the eye patch. "Nah, s'okay. Not like it's an easy thing to miss."

"There can be a certain satisfaction in war wounds," Ethan said, continuing in the casual tone. "Much though I'm sure you'd rather have both eyes, as battle scars go, it's a good one. You can't get it back, so you might as well accentuate the positive, don't you think? Or I may be talking out of my arse." He chuckled, turning to grin at Xander, before putting a hand to the dial and pressing his ear to the safe door.

He heard Xander shift nervously behind him, but he remained silent, letting Ethan concentrate on the safe cracking.

"You can talk," Ethan assured him. "I don't really need to do this listening as I know the numbers; I just want to study the patterns of safe locks; then in future I can do this without the combination. So, feel free to correct me on my many misapprehensions."

"No one got out of Sunnydale unscarred," Xander said softly. "As scars go, yeah, it could've been worse."

Ethan knew Xander had worse scars, unseen scars, as Rupert had told him. But this certainly wasn't the right place to mention the dead and sorely missed. Ethan was quiet as he turned the dial right three times, left twice and then right again, studying the patterns as he did so. The door clicked open, but Ethan left it ajar for now. Standing, he said, "Perhaps the Watcher who sees would care to come look into this then. But don't touch, or even put your hand inside. Only I can do that."

Xander moved to his side, peering at the safe. "What exactly am I looking for, or at?"

"Let's see." Ethan pulled the door open and looked in. The space inside was largely empty. There were files, computer discs, a selection of the small videotapes used in cameras, and interestingly, a small coffer, which he instantly recognised as a Mallon's Chest – an item used for storing toxic or 'leaking' magic items. "Hmm, shall we just take the lot? Rupert would probably prefer us to be selective, but..."

"Better to grab everything and sort through it later," Xander agreed. "Somewhere safe that doesn't have huge dogs wandering around or magic alarms for us to trip."

Ethan nodded. The Mallon's Chest was not something he was prepared to leave behind anyway. Francesca should certainly not be in possession of the kind of magical item it might hold. Taking out the folded plastic bag he had in his pocket, he opened it, and gave it to Xander to hold. "Yes, let's get out of here. These clothes are trying to smother me."

"Yeah. I think we got gypped. We didn't even get to wear cool black breaking-in clothing."

Ethan chuckled, carefully slipping everything from inside the safe into the bag, apart from the coffer. "I'll make sure I demand full black ops gear for you for our next assignment together then. Tight-fitting, of course. I'll tell Rupert it's my newest kink."

Xander rolled his eye. "I don't know what's more disturbing, your continued interest in my ass or your implication that you could talk Giles into having the same interest."

Ethan carefully lifted the coffer out and then shut the empty safe, turning the dial. "You have a very nice arse, Xander. But you do know I'm only teasing, don't you? I only have eyes, and hands, for one person these days." He turned and grinned evilly at his companion. "Heterosexuals are fun to poke with big sticks."

"Well, you can keep your sticks outside of poking distance of me, and that came out way more phallic than I wanted it to."

Ethan's grin fell, and he stared uneasily at Xander, suddenly feeling guilty, and he wasn't even sure about precisely what. He started to say something a couple of times and thought better of it. Shrugging apologetically, he got on with things, returning the picture over the safe, and then turning the physical alarm back on. "Let's go."

Xander reached out and grabbed Ethan's arm, holding him in place. "That wasn't– Look, I'm not offended or anything. It's just that... I'm _not_ offended, and I kinda get the feeling that offending me is the whole point."

"Offending you?" Ethan asked, surprised. "Well, I suppose it was just that to start with. You weren't exactly happy about my existence in Rupert's life, were you?" He met Xander's eye defiantly, but then looked down. "My reaction to disapproval has generally been to live down to it, meet people's worst expectations of me, but... I've long since lost any desire to offend you, Xander."

"I'm glad." Xander paused, looking down himself, before meeting Ethan's raised gaze seriously. "I wasn't happy about you and Giles when I first heard, but that had nothing to do with you being gay. I just didn't want to see my friend hurt, and I've seen you hurt him in the past."

Ethan didn't have an answer for that. He gave Xander a rueful look and gently tugged his arm free. "Let's go," he said again, quietly.

"I don't worry about that anymore," Xander said as he followed Ethan across the room. "You know that, right?"

Ethan didn't know what to say to that one either. He was, it seemed, just as capable of hurting Rupert now as when he'd done it deliberately in their murky past. He gave Xander a ragged smile and led him out of the room.

***

"Let it be noted that the minutes of the previous meeting have been ratified as correct by all present," Higgins said. He was chairing the meeting for Giles as he was so very good at the traditional formality; he seemed to enjoy it even, despite being decidedly on the side of policy reforms.

The minutes-secretary scribbled some shorthand on his pad, and Higgins turned uncertainly to Giles, probably seeking permission to continue.

"I believe we go on to agenda item number one now," Francesca said, in a faux-helpful tone. "There being no matters arising."

"Yes, thank you, Miss Travers," Higgins said, irritated. He turned a page on his clipboard. "Item number one on the Agenda. Mr Giles' report, 'Broadening the Slayer remit – non-combatant Slayers and their role in the modern Council'. Passing the floor to you, Giles."

"Thank you, Higgins," Giles said, deciding at this point to go forward with the presentation as he had planned. With any luck, the pager would go off, letting him know Ethan and the others had been successful before he had to start... extemporising.

"With the surfeit of Slayers that now exist, we have to begin to consider that there may be more than one path for them to follow. Indeed, trying to fit them all into a cookie cutter training program is wasting their potential, both for the girls' personal development and the more practical view that the Council has traditionally taken."

"I'm sorry, Rupert," Francesca predictably interrupted. "I don't quite understand your point. Are you suggesting that there's a shortage of suitable work for our Slayers? I didn't realise that demon numbers were actually decreasing. Has there been a new report?"

"That would be beside the point," Giles said, keeping his irritation out of his voice with effort. "With more than one Slayer, we can look at letting them, encouraging them, to develop whatever talents they're blessed with outside of actual Slaying. Talents that can then be put to use along with the Slayer's more martial abilities."

"Frankly, Rupert, what _is_ the point in this?" Francesca asked, clearly addressing her point to the whole table. "A Slayer never lives beyond her twenty-fifth birthday at the very most. While this statistic may be regrettable, it is also undeniably true. We can't afford to hide from the hard truths." She looked at him with a nauseating expression of false sympathy. "However attached some of us may get to the gals, the best we can do for them is ensure that they have the most thorough training possible – in the appropriate martial disciplines."

Swallowing the retort he wanted to give, Giles instead argued mildly, "When there was but one Slayer fighting alone, or even two, perhaps. That situation, as you're aware, has changed."

"Change is not always a good excuse for more change, Rupert, as I'm sure you'll realise if you let yourself think about it." Francesca's voice was becoming more rabble-rousing in tone; Giles half-expected to hear her talking about fighting them on the beaches. "The way we train Slayers is grounded not just in centuries but in millennia of tradition. It is somewhat arrogant, is it not, to think that we know better than all our forefathers?" She looked around the table challengingly. Many heads nodded in agreement.

"Our forefathers only had to consider one Slayer at a time. They were able to provide the weight of the entire organisation to support her. Now," Giles gestured at the table, the building, the city around them. "It's quite likely there are more Slayers than Watchers."

Her eyes flashed at him. "Then we surely need to be spending more money training graduates of the Academy up to field standard rather than unfairly allowing the gals to believe they can escape their destiny."

"I am not against expanding our number of Watchers," Giles said carefully, treading the thin line between directly challenging Francesca and staying true to his own beliefs. "But surely that is an entirely different issue."

She glared at him. "Rupert, I do believe you are forgetting the agreement I thought we'd reached about the regrettable consequences of your... of ill-thought out policy decisions."

Giles ground his teeth and glanced down at the pager in his papers. Ethan better contact him soon or there was going to be murder committed at this meeting.

***

"Megan, shut that dog up before I commit canine murder." Ethan scowled at the huge beast which, now they were back downstairs, was whining, scraping and barking at a closed door leading from the main hallway. There were some similar noises coming from the other side. "We need to get out of here, and I'd rather not leave to a crescendo of barking."

"Maybe, if we let her out," Xander ventured then shook his head. "What am I saying. Opening doors without knowing what's on the other side is usually of the bad."

"It's the stuff of hapless heroes," Ethan agreed. "And while that tends to work okay for those the gods have smiled upon, that's hardly us."

"I thought I had a destiny to be a hero?" Megan asked, trying and failing to get the massive dog to quieten.

"There's being a hero," Xander pointed out, "and there's being puppy chow. Just try to keep that distinction in mind."

"They want to be together," Megan pointed out, over the increasing din. "This isn't about eating us."

Xander sighed. "All right. I vote for opening the door, but being ready to run like hell if they start looking at us like filet mignon."

Ethan really wasn't keen on that idea, but on the other hand, he couldn't claim to be getting any fonder of the 21-woof salute either. He stepped back. "All right, let Fido have its family reunion then."

Megan and Xander exchanged a look; then Megan opened the door.

Another wolfhound, one that seemed –impossibly– larger, was on the other side. The two dogs did the sniffing and boisterous play that friendly dogs normally engage in and then settled down out in the hallway, which was when it happened.

Megan said, "Awwww," her eyes wide, and three puppies came scampering out, the claws skittering on the polished wood floor. Of course, being wolfhound puppies, they were already the size of a more user-friendly dog, but Megan clearly found them adorable nonetheless, dropping to her knees to cuddle and play with them.

They hadn't time for this.

Ethan opened his mouth to try to encourage more business-like Slayer and less cooing girl, when one of the puppies detached itself from the group and trotted over to him, looking up with big brown eyes. Ethan stared down at it. "Oh."

"Uh oh," Xander said knowingly.

This was... not good. Not good at all. Ethan was looking at the young dog and seeing things he really didn't want to see. Patterns. Threads... Somehow, even though it made no sense at all, even though nothing quite like this had ever happened before, Ethan knew. He knew with utter certainty that this animal belonged to Rupert.

The puppy felt... Well, like other things connected to Rupert felt. It had the same threads, he suddenly realised, that he knew from Xander, and from the girls, and yes, from himself. The threads that marked them all as belonging to Rupert Giles in one way or another, some more actual property than others.

"Bugger," he cursed, almost under his breath. "So I'm to be a dog-thief now?"

The puppy, who had continued to regard him solemnly, yipped at him as if answering the question.

"Oh God," he moaned, resigned to his fate. "Rupert's going to kill me. Megan, look around and see if you can find a puppy-sized collar and lead."

"We're really going to steal a dog?" she asked, nonetheless standing and looking into the room from which the puppies had come.

"Do you steal a dog or kidnap it?" Xander asked, frowning. "Dog-nap?"

The puppy, meanwhile, was up on his hind legs, leaning against Ethan's leg, wagging his tail so hard his entire rear was wriggling.

Apparently unable to resist the urge, Ethan bent down to pat its stupid head and somehow found himself rising again, lifting the pup up into his arms. "You better tell Rupert what you told me," he told it. "Otherwise he'll think I'm certifiable."

The puppy's answer was to enthusiastically lick Ethan's face.

Megan returned empty-handed, but Ethan smiled at her as he tried to keep his face out of tongue's way. "I think we'll manage. For God's sake, let's get out of here before we decide to take the family silver as well."

"Actually, I could use some new dishes..." Xander began teasingly as they headed for the door.

"I'll take you to John Lewis and buy you some," Ethan said drily. "We go now. You drive us somewhere while I check our haul. Then I text-message Rupert's beeper without further delay."

The big dogs didn't complain as Ethan took the puppy outside and made no attempt to follow. The pup itself wriggled up enough to look over his shoulder, but then was still. As they crossed the road to the car, Ethan was still trying to think of ways he could explain this development to Rupert.

He didn't think any of them were going to wash.

***

Giles had retreated into silence, it being the only way he could keep from either contradicting Francesca or compromising his own beliefs. That wasn't stopping him from having increasingly violent daydreams about what he wanted to do with her though.

With the floor to herself, Francesca was going to town, speech-making like a Tory politician at an election year conference. "... and further more, I believe that now more than ever it is essential to stick to the tried and true. We can have no idea what the full ramifications of having so many Slayers may be; it is far too early to be presumptuous. Rash decisions will lead only to regrettable outcomes. As I'm certain Mr Giles, our _current_ leader, now realises, radical and adventurous policies such as untrained Watchers and non-combatant Slayers may seem, what is the term? Politically correct on paper, but these young gals are far too vulnerable and valuable to play such games with them."

Giles finally exploded. "So it's better to just use them as weapons, ignoring the fact that they're human beings? I suppose you want to bring back the Cruciamentum as well, barbaric as it is."

She glared ice daggers at him. "Really, Rupert. Is such an outburst strictly necessary? I'm beginning to think the committee might be interested in seeing my special report after all..."

Really, there couldn't have been a better time for the pager he'd sat at the side of his files to start to vibrate. Pressing the appropriate button, Giles read the message as it scrolled across.

'Vids and other loot secured inc Travers accounts. Need Pammy to check, but think Travers have been leeching CoW funds for generations. Kiss. Don't be cross when you see what I have for you?'

Relief coursed through Giles as he read and a fierce exhilaration. With the freedom to now speak as he would, Giles sat up straighter and gave Francesca his best Ripperish smile. "I think you might want to double-check your sources of information for that report before you present it," he told her smoothly. "I wouldn't want you to end up looking foolish, my dear."

She hesitated. It was slight, but Giles saw it, noted it, and smiled more broadly. "I can assure you my sources are quite sound," she said, full of authority and confidence again, but Giles knew she had her doubts now.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he told her with false sweetness. "But we've drifted from the point, which is my intention to implement training for Slayers who want it in secondary disciplines. Beginning with Katherine Sato apprenticing with a shamanic healer in Devon."

"That is categorically out of the question," Francesca said angrily, rising to her feet. There was a murmur of discontent around the table. One didn't talk to the Council Head that way, whatever the provocation. "I will not permit you to destroy the work of the Watchers before us. My father–" She stopped as the door opened in a hurry, and one of her lackeys scurried over to her.

There was a whispered conversation, Francesca becoming increasingly and obviously alarmed and angry.

Finally, she turned briefly to the meeting to say, "You will have to excuse me," before sweeping out of the chamber, leaving her lackey to pick up her files and papers from the desk.

Giles allowed himself a moment of satisfaction at Francesca's abrupt departure while a general murmur went around the table. Then, smiling, he took control of the meeting again. "You've heard my proposal and have a more detailed explanation in the papers provided. If there aren't any _serious_ objections..."


	13. Chapter 13

  
**Then...**

Ethan was seventeen today and looking for a birthday present – something special, something that would mean something. Something that would last.

He'd long since worked out that if he wanted anything good in this life he had to get it for himself, his family apparently considering life itself and some dodgy genes gifts enough. So he'd put on his best shimmering flares; the ones that meant all the old queens couldn't stop staring at his arse. They were part of his hunting gear, part of the get up that changed him from lanky sixteen-year-old to asexual, ageless predator laying claim to the dance floor.

Something like that, anyway. The gear seemed to do the trick usually, and that was what counted.

He knew what he was looking for as he moved through the plebeian crowd, refusing all comers. He was waiting for that moment when he'd look at someone and just _know_ that this was the right one. The one who was born for him; the one who could tell Ethan who he was, why he was, as there had to be some reason behind all this futility, surely?

Today was the day.

He'd always known really. That he was destined for, if not greatness, at least for uniqueness, for the stuff of the modern, urban fairytale. He was Jack with his beans, Aladdin with his lamp, the poor boy about to make it so very good. Somewhere out there was something magical and wonderful, disguised from the eyes of the common crowd, but Ethan would see and recognise this treasure, this magic mirror, and the mirror would recognise him in turn.

The mirror would see that Ethan was the fairest of them all.

Bowie's latest was playing loud, Ethan's body moving instinctively to the sound. He stood in front of the big disco speakers, letting the vibrations play through him, over him. He moved to them as if responding to a lover's hands while his eyes scanned the crowd, searching.

He would never be sure what stopped his gaze where it did. A boy his age or a little older stood at the bar, dressed in skin tight jeans and black leather jacket, his sandy brown hair long enough to brush the collar. Ethan couldn't tell from this distance, but he knew somehow that the boy's eyes would be green.

As he watched, the boy leant closer to the bloke next to him, obviously in an effort to hear over the music. Whatever the boy heard must have been amusing because he threw his head back and laughed.

Oh.

Ethan felt like he had been hit hard in the gut. He grabbed at his belly and gasped for breath. He'd known that he would recognise his mirror when he found it, but he hadn't realised how painful the recognition would be.

He felt like crying, like falling to his knees and beseeching the boy to come to him. But what if he went to the boy, and the boy just looked through him? What if the boy was straight? What if this was just the last laugh of destiny, that Ethan had spent his life waiting for this moment, and it would turn out to be the punchline of a sadistic joke.

He had to wait, wait and watch. And thank God, the intense feelings were abating now. He could look at the boy without feeling as if he would die without immediately tasting his skin, his lips... hearing his voice, feeling his hands... Oh bugger. There they were again.

Ethan groaned and backed up into the crowd, his eyes never leaving the back of the green-eyed boy.

***

  
**Now...**

It was with a sense of great satisfaction that Giles put the key into the lock and opened the front door. Home at last. The dragon, if not defeated as such, was at least sent off with her tail between her legs, and several of his key proposals had been accepted for initial implementation. And now Giles was finally going to be able to relax in the comfort of his own home.

He found he was actually looking forward to some of Ethan's pampering, for although he was still somewhat exuberant, he was also very tired and his leg hurt. As he opened the door, he also opened his mouth to call to Ethan and announce his homecoming. The words never left his mouth, however, as standing directly in front of him in the small lobby was the man himself, the door beyond him closed.

"Good evening, dear," Ethan said with his most untrustworthy grin. "Have a nice day? Shall I take your case?"

Giles let the case be taken from his hand even as he regarded Ethan suspiciously. "It's been a good day. So far. Although with you looking at me with that expression I wonder if that's about to change."

Ethan laughed. Nervously. "Don't you trust me, dearheart?" There was some sort of noise coming from behind the closed door into the living room. Ethan's brow creased. "Hmm, we may perhaps need to talk..."

"Did something go wrong with the heist? Did someone get hurt?" His good mood fading as worry took its place, Giles took a limping step towards the living room door.

Ethan moved into his path, standing close and stroking Giles' shoulders and upper chest with his free hand. "Everyone's fine, and nothing went wrong. There was just one small and not necessarily unpleasant complication..."

Something started scrabbling at the door.

Years of dealing with demons and werewolves made the sound of claws scratching against wood one that Giles recognised immediately. "Did you conjure something?" he asked, moving to step around Ethan.

"No!" Ethan answered, stung. "And may I say how touching your faith in me truly is? If you must go in without waiting for an explanation, at least let me close the front door first." He squeezed past Giles and shut them into the small space.

"Is there an explanation coming?" Giles asked, the words coming out testier than he meant. He took a deep breath. "Sorry, my leg's aching a bit, and I really would like to get off it."

"Oh." Ethan seemed instantly contrite and concerned. "I'm sorry. Let's go in and get you sat down. You can meet the as yet unnamed complication, and I can attempt to explain the inexplicable." He pushed back past Giles and opened the door into the living room.

A bundle of fur dove through Ethan's legs only to bounce off of Giles. He looked down and found himself meeting a deep brown gaze looking up at him.

"Ethan."

There was that nervous laugh again. "Yes?"

"There's a rather large puppy sitting on my foot."

"Yes." Ethan smiled at him. "Meet, erm... your faithful hound."

Tearing his gaze away from the animal, Giles looked up and sought out Ethan's. "You stole a puppy?"

"He rather insisted upon it. Are you going to come and sit down?" Ethan offered his hand.

"There's a puppy sitting on my foot."

"Well, tell him not to?" Ethan suggested. "He's _your_ dog."

Giles looked dubiously down at the animal. "Could you get off my foot, please?" he asked politely.

The puppy stood up attentively, panting, watching Giles carefully as if waiting further instructions. Ethan... giggled. Giles glared at Ethan for a moment then sighed, looking back down at the puppy.

"I suppose you might as well come with me into the living room," he told it.

It wagged its tail furiously, yapped once, and scampered back into the main room. Ethan was still holding out his hand. "You need to be thinking about names, dearheart."

"You stole me a puppy," Giles said again, taking Ethan's hand and allowing his lover to slide closer and take some of his weight as they made their slow way into the living room.

"It wasn't quite as... well..." Ethan seemed somewhat at a loss for words. He helped Giles sit down and then gazed down at him. "Look at that dog. _Really_ look at it. Then tell me who it belongs to."

Giles looked at Ethan for a long moment then turned all of his senses, including his magic sense, onto the animal who had once again moved to sit on his foot. The dog looked back, its big brown eyes wide and far too solemn for an animal that young.

It was faint, but there was a connection there; the puppy felt familiar, like a distant taste of his own magic.

"You see it, don't you?" Ethan asked quietly, sitting down beside him. "The monster-in-training recognised me as... Well, as kin. We both belong to you, dear. Both bear your mark."

"I know what I need you for; not sure what I need a dog for." But Giles leaned down and scratched the animal's ears, which set its tail to thumping.

"It was like he was waiting there for me to find him and take him to you." Giles felt Ethan's hand moving restlessly over his back. "If Frannie calls the Met, he's pretty conclusive evidence of my misdeeds."

"She won't," Giles said with complete assurance. "Not with the information about her accounts we apparently have now." He leaned back in the chair, tilting his head to look up at Ethan, some of his earlier satisfaction coming back now that the mystery of the closed door had been solved. "You should have seen her, love. She flew out of the meeting as if someone had set her on fire. It was bloody marvellous."

"I wish I'd been there to see it." Ethan sounded genuinely envious. "I'm no accountant, but those books looked pretty damning of Quentin and the many Travers gits before him. Xander took the ledgers as he said he could drop them into Pammy's tonight. That's after he drove us to Pets-at-Home for a few bits and pieces. Now might be a good time to authorise a raise for one or both of us, by the way." He grinned at Giles.

"Sleeping with the boss isn't enough for you?" Giles teased.

"It's hardly going to pay for the dog food, vet bills etc. Well, unless we set our bed on a stage somewhere."

Giles chuckled. "I wouldn't put it past you to do that." He paused and then added honestly, "I wouldn't put it past me to be talked into it either."

Ethan laughed and cuddled up to Giles, kissing his cheek softly. _'Missed you,'_ he murmured in Giles' head, and out loud he said, "We found the mutt on the other side of the Door of Heroes, so you may care to name him appropriately."

"I'll give it some thought," Giles promised, tugging on Ethan's arm in an effort to pull him into his lap.

Ethan moved obligingly enough, settling happily on Giles' legs and wrapping his arms loosely around Giles' neck. He laughed as the unnamed pup scampered up on the vacated seat of the sofa and sat, gazing attentively at Giles.

Looking at the dog, Giles observed, "It's probably quite a good thing that we're not put off by having an audience."

"Just as long as you remember to use His Master's Voice if he tries to join in. There are limits, you know." Ethan grinned.

"A fox in my bed is enough."

Ethan nipped softly at Giles' lips with his own and seemed to be settling in for some serious canoodling, when he suddenly tensed and straightened up, a fed up look on his face. "Before we get too stuck in, you should know. I found something else in the Travers' safe."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Giles said, faintly put out at the interruption. "A predestined parakeet perhaps?"

"Nothing half so much fun," Ethan said sourly. "And don't ask me to show you. Opening the chest once was nightmare territory. Opening it again would be tantamount to insanity for me."

Instantly forgetting all of their teasing, Giles sat up straighter, his hands running over Ethan's body, searching him for signs of damage. "Tell me."

"There was a small Mallon's Chest," Ethan told him. "I took it as I couldn't see how we wanted Daddy's Girl to have her hands on anything that one of those might contain. And then, once home, and because my middle name might as well be 'Pandora', I opened it."

"What was in it?" Giles asked softly but seriously; Ethan didn't seem to be injured in body or magic that he could detect, but it was obvious that Ethan was greatly disturbed.

Ethan looked miserably at him, clearly unwilling to speak, although he did. "I'm pretty certain it's the pouch from that mage who attacked us. The one he took his 'grenades' from. It reeks of Chaos. I imagine one of Frannie's minions was in the clean up crew and nabbed it. I... I... Oh Rupert, I feel like a dry alcoholic offered the best whisky. Disgusted and upset... and hating myself because part of me still wants it." He hunched himself up, burying his face in the crook of Giles' neck.

Giles wrapped his arms around Ethan and let some of his magic wash over them both. "It's all right," he murmured. "If there's anything more to be done with it, I'll do it. You won't have to go near it again."

"But I need to know how to deal with it," Ethan mumbled against his neck. "Otherwise they'll keep using it against me. Bugger it, how can I now be so terrified of the stuff I virtually lived off for forty years?"

"Because you virtually lived off it for forty years," Giles said softly, running light fingers over the nape of Ethan's neck. "You've done an extremely difficult thing fighting free of it. It's only natural that you fear falling back."

The dog whined softly and nosed Ethan's leg. Absent-mindedly, Ethan dropped his hand down to ruffle its ears reassuringly. "It's in the kitchen, closed up tight again," he muttered. "I really don't know what to do with it."

"I'll take care of it," Giles promised. He still had a couple of hiding places from the days of gathering information when the First was beginning to move. The chest would be safe there.

"Which would be the reason, I suppose, that I haven't offered you food or tea yet." Ethan sighed. "I really don't want to deal with it tonight. I just want you. And perhaps a canine observer, if I have to. But mostly just you."

"You've got me." He glanced at the kitchen. "I can go ward it for tonight, and move it somewhere where you won't have to deal with it."

Ethan moved restlessly against him. "There are the videos too. I didn't destroy them as I thought you might want to check what was on them, but we'll need a video camera for that, and I for one don't want to watch whatever film there is of the train."

"It's okay. I'll deal with all of that," Giles told him, feeling suddenly protective. He dropped a kiss on Ethan's temple. "You did your part getting all these things; leave the rest up to me."

Ethan pulled back enough to give him an unhappy look.

"What, love?"

"I want to let you do all that..."

"But...?"

"I..." Ethan fidgeted, disturbing the dog and generally unsettling things. "I don't know," he admitted. "Or maybe I do. It's..." He looked exasperatedly at Giles. "Oh..."

Giles brushed his fingers over Ethan's cheek. "You feel like you have a responsibility?"

Ethan closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes, and I'd be avoiding it... I like you in charge. I like you taking care of me, and I don't want to have to deal with these things. Really, I don't. But... oh God, I'm still so new at this."

"You're doing fine." Leaning in, Giles kissed him gently. "And if I wasn't already in love with you, I'm fairly certain I would have just fallen."

Ethan kissed him back, not so gently. If he seemed needy, Giles thought, it was hardly surprising.

"You did so well today," he murmured, between kisses.

Giles could feel Ethan's lips grinning against his at the praise, yet Ethan just said, "The other two deserve much of the credit."

"Responsibility and humility all in the same conversation," Giles teased, lowering his head to nuzzle at Ethan's jawline.

"You've corrupted me hopelessly," Ethan chuckled. "There's no saving me now. Next thing you know I'll be quoting Council tradition at you."

Giles drew back, putting a hand to his chest in mock horror. "Anything but that."

The dog yapped in excitement beside him, and Ethan turned to look at it. "Megan says she and Kat will walk him either on their own or with us. He's going to get very big, you know... but I have to say that as guard dogs go, this particular breed is the equivalent of one of those empty house alarm boxes people hang in order to pretend they're wired up."

"Luckily, we've other ways of guarding our space." Giles reached out and petted the dog, the animal wriggling at the attention and pressing close to Giles' side. "He is rather engaging, isn't he?"

"Good thing, really. Do you think this sort of thing is likely to happen to us often now?"

"Dog napping?"

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Things inexplicably belonging to us; things laying claim to us, finding their way to us; people choosing our side when we didn't even really know we had a side; mystic seers getting over-excited about us – that sort of thing."

"Quite likely." Giles thought back, from meeting Ethan, through his years in Sunnydale, and how so much of it had the same feel of predestiny as he felt when faced with the puppy. "I don't think that's anything new for either of us though. We may be more aware of it now, but it's been happening all along."

Ethan looked pensive and started playing absently with the ring Giles had given him. "Destiny scares me; it's too much like unseen laws that you obey without even knowing you're obeying them. I much prefer free will."

Giles entwined his hand with Ethan's, their rings brushing against each other as he searched for the words to explain how the whole situation felt to him. "Destiny is just the path that the universe has laid out for us. How we walk it, or whether we walk it at all, that's up to us. That's our free will."

"Rupert..." Ethan hesitated, the fingers of his free hand tracing Giles' face.

"Yes, love?" He turned his head enough to drop a kiss on Ethan's wandering fingertips.

Ethan's eyes were dark and troubled. "Without destiny, do you think that you and I would... Well, that there would ever have been a you and I?"

"I don't know," Giles replied, tilting his head as he rolled the question over in his mind. "I think," he said slowly, "without destiny we wouldn't have cared."

"Cared about what?" Ethan asked, sounding alarmed. "About each other? That there wasn't an 'us'?"

"Yes." He shifted as he tried to explain. "Destiny made us, shaped us to be what we are, to fit together like we do. If there were no destiny, I don't think we'd be the same people. We wouldn't fit the same way."

Ethan frowned, wriggled uncomfortably, frowned some more, then moved his face back into the crook of Giles' neck. "I suppose," he muttered, sounding sulky, "I'd better learn to love fate in that case."

Giles wrapped his arms tightly around Ethan. "I thank fate every day for what it's brought me." He smiled wryly. "There's been times in the past where I've heartily cursed it, but I've gained far more from it than I've lost."

He felt Ethan nod against him. "It's just patterns really; I shouldn't let it scare me. Working with destiny is working with the patterns. Fighting it, trying to deny fate, to break the patterns, is... Well, Chaos, I suppose. And yet even while I worshiped Chaos, I was fulfilling this destiny. Oh... I'm not sure it's doing me any good to think about this." Ethan looked up, giving Giles a beseeching look. "Make me stop?"

"Make you stop thinking?" Giles ran a hand lightly down Ethan's side, letting a bit of his magic gather around his fingertips. "Now how shall I go about doing that?" he asked, teasingly.

Ethan squirmed into the touch. "I'm assuming that's a rhetorical question."

"Quite thoroughly rhetorical," Giles agreed, taking Ethan's mouth in a long passionate kiss.

***

_ **Then...** _

"For the last bleedin' time, get your scrawny little arse over here, boy, before you make the thrashin' that's comin' to yer worse'n ever!"

The words followed Ethan down the road, chasing behind him as he ran, jeering at him. Laughing at him like the other kids he passed because of the tears streaking his filthy face and the too-short trousers showing his mismatching socks. He wasn't sure what he'd done this time, or why he was so frightened, but something must have happened.

The streets blurred, and before Ethan knew it, he was in front of his nan's house. Empty now since the ambulance had taken her away, but he knew how to get in still. He'd liked his nan; she'd held him sometimes, told him stories.

Time jumped again, and he was walking up the stairs inside, heading for Nan's big soft bed where he thought he could lie for a while and cry in peace. But there were voices downstairs, male and threatening; they were looking for him to punish him because he'd done something terrible. He wished he could remember what.

The bed was gone from Nan's bedroom. Her cupboards and carpets too. It was just a big empty room with nowhere to hide, and the angry voices were coming upstairs.

There was a door at the far side of the room that Ethan would swear he'd never seen before, but of course, it had always been there, hadn't it? Just waiting for today.

Very, very slowly, like moving through water, Ethan walked to the door and opened it. Beyond, there was a long room with an angled ceiling; it was full of junk and shadows. Beams of sunlight shone through cracks in the roof.

The angry men were outside Nan's bedroom now; Ethan had no choice. He walked into the new room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

As soon as the door clicked closed behind him, the angry voices disappeared, locked out as if they'd never existed. Ethan looked at the door for a moment longer, but then left its safety and moved deeper into this new room, eyeing the large shrouded forms of covered furniture warily.

He stepped on a board that creaked loudly; a second later, he heard a boy's voice call out, "Who's there?"

Wiping his face free of tears, Ethan straightened, and noted with pleasure that his clothes seemed to be fitting him better now. "It's me," he said, walking carefully to where the voice had seemed to come from.

Ethan caught a glimpse of blond hair on the other side of a pile of boxes and made his way around to the small space where another boy sat. Green eyes that also showed evidence of recent tears looked up at him. "You're late."

"I had to run away first," Ethan explained, sitting down beside the other boy and offering him a grubby Toffo from a roll. "What are you doing?"

"Hiding." The boy took a Toffo and unwrapped it, popping it into his mouth. And in return, he offered Ethan a napkin full of slightly worse for wear biscuits. "Stole them from the kitchen."

"Oh, they have chocolate on." Ethan happily took several biscuits and started munching. He looked around the attic, for that was what this room was. "I like it here. Do you want to play a game with me?"

"What kind of game?"

"Dress-up?" Ethan offered. "We could pretend to be other people."

The other boy tilted his head to the side as he considered. "Shouldn't we know who _we_ are first?"

Ethan thought about that. "Maybe we should dress up as ourselves then." He stood up and looked around for suitable costuming.

"There's a trunk of old clothes over here," the boy said, scrambling to his feet and leading the way deeper into the attic. "It was my grandmother's, which means it's to be mine when I grow up."

"They took my Nan away," Ethan told him conversationally. "All her stuff's gone so I don't think I'll be getting anything from her."

They had to climb over an old mattress to get where they were going. The material it was upholstered with had playing cards, dice, snakes and ladders boards, and chess pieces printed on it.

"Maybe we can play those games after," the boy said as he helped Ethan down the other side.

"We can make up the rules as we go along," Ethan agreed. They stopped in front of a large wicker chest. "You said you were going to deal with this," he heard himself say, and he didn't know why he'd said that so he tried again. "Can I open it?"

The boy considered that seriously and then reached for the lid. "I think we need to do it together." Ethan stretched his hands out to oblige.

The chest was full of wonderful costumes. Ethan could become anything he wanted, from soldier to queen, highwayman to nurse. He reached into the clothes and started pulling them out, looking for the right one, looking for himself.

The other boy quickly sorted through and picked out two costumes for himself. "I'll be different things at different times," he said. "And sometimes I'll mix them up."

Ethan looked at the costumes the other boy had, and he nodded. "They're both you." Now he absolutely had to find himself. He threw more and more clothes out of the chest, but never reached the bottom, and nothing he found seemed quite right. He struggled into a dress and then ripped it taking it off again. He tried a prince's crown and cloak, but then chucked them aside.

There was a funny cotton suit with arrows on it and a ball and chain, and for a moment, he considered that one, but when he touched the chain he felt suddenly sick so that put him off. Finally, he decided on a glamorous Wizard's costume with a turban for a hat and a mask made of peacock feathers. That was him, he thought. That felt like him.

So he put it on.

But although it fitted like it was made for him, and although the robes were made of the most beautiful patterned velvet, and although while wearing this costume, Ethan knew he would be both powerful and safe... he also knew it wasn't really him. Not completely.

And when he looked back in the box, all the costumes had gone and there was nothing left. Ethan began to cry behind the feathered mask because he was never going to find himself. He would never know who he really was.

"It's all right," the other boy said, touching his shoulder. "You're just wearing it wrong." He reached up and untied the mask, pulling it away from Ethan's face. "There," he said with a smile. "That's better."

The costume felt very different with the mask gone. It felt lighter, cooler. Ethan wouldn't have been surprised to find the heavy velvet had turned to Chinese silk. He didn't look down to find out as he was too busy staring into the boy's green eyes.

"Oh look, there I am," he said happily, gazing at his own reflection. "You found me."

"Of course." The boy reached out and touched his cheek. "That's what I do. Well, part of it."

Ethan mirrored the gesture, bringing his fingers up to touch his friend's face. The boy's eyes were still rimmed with red, so Ethan asked, "Why were you crying?"

The boy shrugged, but didn't move away. "My father told me I have to Watch her. I was crying because I'm going to lose her, and then I'll be alone."

"But I'm here now," Ethan pointed out. "You found me."

"I'm not crying now," the boy pointed out. "But you were late."

Frowning, Ethan tried to recall, but the memories were slippery like the eels his Dad brought home sometimes. "I was in trouble," he said. "I'd done something very naughty. I think they're still after me. They want to punish me." He looked at the other boy with big eyes. "I'm scared."

The boy slung an arm around Ethan's shoulders. "You don't have to be. You're here now."

Suddenly, there was a noise, a door being rattled hard. Someone or something wanted to come in. "They're here," Ethan whispered, frozen with fear. "I've been bad, and they're going to give me what I deserve."

"You're not bad. You just didn't know better." The boy's arm was still around his shoulders, providing a warmth and comfort that Ethan wasn't used to. "They're not going to touch you. They can't when you're with me."

The door began to bang; something was trying to break through it.

But the boy was right. Ethan was safe here. Safe in a way he'd never been before. It didn't matter what was on the other side of that door so long as he was with the boy with green eyes. Ethan wrapped his own arms around his friend, and even though he thought this attic belonged to the other boy and not to him, he asked, "Stay with me?"

The blows falling on the door echoed throughout the attic space. They ignored them.

His friend grinned at him. "I'm not going anywhere. But you have to stay with me too then."

Ethan looked up happily. "May I?"

And at that moment, the door fell in.

 

_ **Now...** _

"Christ on a crutch," Ethan muttered. "What the hell was that?" The bedroom was bright; it was clearly morning outside. He tried to move, to sit up maybe, only to find he was firmly clasped to his husband's body. "Rupert?"

Rupert shifted and opened his eyes, blinking blearily at Ethan. "I just had the strangest dream..."

"You too?" Ethan sighed. "Attics and banging doors and... oh." He stared into Rupert's green-grey eyes. "You found me."

"You were late," Rupert replied with the faint traces of a smile.

So it had been another of _those_ dreams, but very different from the last one. Ethan grinned at Rupert. "You had blond hair."

"I did when I was little." Rupert shifted, rolling onto his back and pulling Ethan with him, onto his chest. "You were missing your front teeth."

Ethan chuckled, wriggling a little to get comfortable. "I was a revolting little urchin. Whereas you looked like Oliver Twist, your innate good breeding shining through. That place... was it somewhere real?"

Rupert nodded. "The attic of the house I grew up in. The Giles' Estate." His lips twisted briefly into a slightly self-mocking smile then faded as he ran fingers over Ethan's face. "You weren't revolting. If I was Oliver Twist, you were the Artful Dodger. Adorable scamp."

"I'd do anything for you, dear," Ethan said through a huge grin. He bent and kissed Rupert.

Running a hand lightly down Ethan's back, Rupert murmured more seriously, "Consider yourself part of the family."

Ethan appreciated the words and kissed Rupert again, although he was feeling too exuberant to maintain a serious expression. "Part of the Giles' family? Does that mean I get to have an Estate too?"

"My cousin is living at the estate now," Rupert replied, in between more kisses. "But we could go for a visit sometime, if you'd like."

Ethan considered that. "I think I'd like to see the attic for real. I take it it's all very green and uncivilised there, like Devon?"

He felt Rupert's mouth curved up into a smile against his. "Green, yes, but not quite like Devon. It's a bit more... tamed."

"The crows are just that then, crows?" Ethan licked around Rupert's smile. "I'd like to see where you grew up. I'm sure it's considerably nicer than the dingier areas of Enfield."

"Yes, but the focus on duty and destiny would have driven you quite mad, I'm sure," Rupert told him. "When things have gone back to what passes for normal around here, I'll call my cousin and arrange for a visit."

"Please tell me he or she is neither a rampant homophobe nor a fox-hunter."

"Not the former, but I can't say for sure about the latter; it's been a while since I visited."

"I think I may have to become one of those hunt saboteurs, you know. Yes, I can see a future for myself there." Ethan grinned.

"I'd prefer that I'm the only one who chases your tail," Rupert said mildly.

Ethan wriggled provocatively. "Better catch it quick then, might get away."

Rupert's hands slid down Ethan's back to grab his arse. "You're not going anywhere."

Just for a few moments, Ethan felt, not hands on his arse, but a slender arm around his shoulder and a voice saying, "_You have to stay with me too." _

Ethan smiled softly, looking deeply into Rupert's eyes, and said, "I'll stay."


	14. Chapter 14

Ethan stared discontentedly into the spare room. "Rupert and I are going to have to do another thorough cleansing in here before we can allow you to call this home."

"It's fine, really," Megan told him from her position in the doorway, a bag slung over her shoulder and a box in her hands. "I've slept here before, remember."

"I know, and had I been in my right mind when you did, I would never have allowed it." He turned and looked at her properly, seeing the uncertainty on her face. "I'm not chucking you out, sweet thing," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "I just want Rupert and me to do another cleansing before you sleep in here tonight. I don't sense anything... unpleasant remaining, but it's better to be safe. I... I did regrettable things in here." He winced inside at his own words.

"So it's a room with a history." A teasing smile touched her lips. "That doesn't exactly discourage me."

He gave her a sour look in return. "Not the fun kind of history. I did... Chaos in here." And worse. He'd got as close as he'd ever been to rape in here. He knew Rupert didn't see it that way, but...

He shivered.

Megan gave a half-shrug. "A wicked history is still a history. Can I put my stuff in here at least?"

Turning his shiver into a deliberate shake of his head, Ethan cleared his mind. "Yes, move in," he told Megan. "It's your room now. Put things where you like. Rupert will probably tell me I'm mad wanting another cleansing anyway." Ethan moved over to the window. "Will you let me take you to some big out of town place and buy you your choice of bedding and curtains? These Council drabs are far too dull for you."

"You don't have to do that–" Megan began as she put her things down on the bed.

"No, " Ethan agreed, "but I want to. So the question remains, are you going to let me? Being as it's dangerously close to shopping." He smirked at her.

"I think I can be convinced." Then she gave him a beaming smile and crossed the room to hug him. "Thank you."

He hugged her back. "It will be lovely having you here, even if Rupert and I will have to change our habits a tadge."

Megan pulled back from the hug. "Don't put yourself out on my account." Her smile turned impish. "You can continue with your regular activities. I won't mind."

Ethan raised an eyebrow and said archly, "So when you bring your first girlfriend home, you won't mind us watching you both then?" Megan blushed bright red and blanched at the same time, which made for an overall blotchy effect, and Ethan chuckled. "Point made?"

She nodded and then frowned. "I'm not going to be in the way or anything, am I?"

Ethan put his hands on her shoulders and waiting for her to meet his eyes before he spoke. "Megan, didn't I just say it would be lovely to have you here?"

"Yeah, but you also said you have to change things to make me fit."

Ethan gave her a fond but exasperated look. "Change isn't necessary bad, sweetheart. Come now. We want you here, and not, in case you were thinking so, as a glorified guard dog. With Kat leaving us, we want the rest of our little family close by." He crimped his lips. "Of course, if you'd rather not stay here with two old men, I'd quite understand–"

"No!" Megan said. "I mean, I _want_ to be here. Really. With Kat leaving, it wouldn't be the same at the dorm. And... and I want to be here, just to be here. To be part of... something."

"Oh, dear child, you _are_ part of something, part of _this_ something." He wrapped his arms tightly around her. "I'm delighted that you're moving in. How can I convince you of this?"

Megan's arms crept around him in return. "This is a pretty good way."

Suddenly, there was yipping and the thump, thump of running feet from the hallway.

"I'd say buy me a puppy," Megan added with a grin, "but it sounds like the one that's already here is enough of a handful."

The young wolfhound barrelled into the spare... into _Megan's_ bedroom dragging something in his mouth that looked horribly like Rupert's leather satchel. Papers were falling out all over the place. Judging by the human feet that Ethan could now hear pounding up the stairs, Rupert wasn't best pleased by this development.

Separating from Megan, Ethan turned to look into the landing, folding his arms determinedly.

Rupert appeared outside the doorway a few seconds later without his cane, moving at a quite impressive speed for someone limping as badly as he was. "Gwydion, that is not a chew toy!"

Ethan glared at Rupert. "Sit down at once, and I'm not talking to the dog."

Rupert ignored the order, moving further into the room to get at the puppy, who was now dodging behind Megan. "He's scattering my files all over the place!"

"Then tell him not to. You know he does anything you say; he just thinks you're playing with him if you don't tell him not to. Sit down before I make you." Rupert's leg would never get back to normal at this rate.

Still focused entirely on the puppy and ignoring the admonition to sit down, Rupert ordered, "Gwydion, let go!"

"See how seriously he takes me?" Ethan said to Megan petulantly. The dog had let go as instructed, but was now rolling over in the spilled papers. "That mutt takes more notice of him than he takes of me."

"Gwydion, ju– just stop moving," Rupert was telling the puppy exasperatedly. "Sit, and stay still!"

The dog sat down on its haunches. Megan moved around the room and hallway, picking up the papers. Ethan stared at everyone trying to decide whether his need to sulk at Rupert was greater or lesser than his pleasure at having his 'family' all around him like this. In the end, he just sat down on the bed and drew his feet up under him, feeling... unsettled.

Rupert limped over and sat down heavily beside him with a faint groan.

"Don't look to me for sympathy," Ethan told him bluntly.

"Of course not, you're the one who brought the little thief here in the first place." There was no rancour in Rupert's voice; in fact there was a great deal of exasperated affection and a bit of humour as well.

Ethan didn't answer immediately. While he was genuinely peeved by Rupert abusing his still healing leg, he was, underneath that, in far too good a mood to want to spoil things with a fight. In the end, he just said, "I want to give this space one last cleansing."

Rupert didn't argue or double-check; he just nodded. "All right," he said, reaching for Ethan's hand. "We could do it after we get the mess Gwydion's made of my files sorted out. Megan can take the little monster for a walk and hopefully wear out some of his energy while we do it."

Ethan nodded, grateful for the easy acceptance. He squeezed Rupert's hand and leant his head on Rupert's shoulder. "Are we still going into the office this afternoon?"

"I was planning on it, yes. Pamela's set up an appointment with our dear Francesca."

Megan came in, pausing hesitantly in the doorway until Ethan held his hand out to her. She passed the collected papers to Rupert and sat down on the other side of Ethan. "I can get the place ready for Kat's going away meal while you're gone," she offered, obviously having heard the last couple of comments.

Gwydion jumped up onto the bed and did his best to clamber onto Rupert's lap. "Shoo," Ethan told him. "That's my seat."

"He needs a walk," Megan said.

"Yes," Rupert agreed, struggling to get the puppy under some kind of control as it squirmed and bounced happily half on the bed and half on his lap. "A long walk. Perhaps even a run, up many a steep hill."

Ethan turned to Megan and smiled sweetly. "Erm..."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll just get the leash, shall I?"

He grinned and patted her leg. "We'll do the cleansing while you're out."

"Go with Megan," Rupert told the puppy firmly, setting him back on the floor.

Gwydion hesitated as if he was going to disobey, but then scampered over and sat attentively by Megan's feet. "He really does understand everything you say, doesn't he?" Megan said, shaking her head in amazement. She stood and walked to the door, before looking back at the two men. "So, a long walk? How much time will the cleansing take?"

Rupert gave Ethan a speculative look. "A long walk would be a good thing, I think," he said. "We want this cleansing to be... thorough."

Ethan opened his mouth to argue; it was a simple ritual and didn't take long, but something about the way Rupert was looking at him made him instead stand up and remove his wallet from his back pocket. He handed Megan some notes and told her, "Don't stay out any longer than you want to; this is your home now, and you're allowed to be here whenever you want. That said, if you do come home early, stay downstairs until we emerge. Some things it's better not to interrupt." He smiled in a way he hoped was encouraging and not laced with innuendo.

"I'll even pretend I don't hear anything that might drift down the stairs," Megan assured him, with a grin, then turned and headed for the door. Gwydion trotted along at her heels obediently. Ethan frowned after her. Why did everyone always assume that each time he and Rupert were alone together they were having sex? Agreed, they usually were, but still.

He waited until he heard the front door close before he said anything, turning then to sit back down and nuzzle at Rupert. "Are you thinking about spending some time in our own bedroom?"

Rupert laid his papers aside and turned to slip his arms around Ethan's form. "There are cleansings, and there are cleansings."

"In here?" Ethan frowned deeply, unpleasant memories of the night he'd done the Chaos ritual and what had happened afterwards chasing through his mind. "Rupert, I'm not sure..."

"Memories need to be cleansed too sometimes." Rupert brushed a hand against Ethan's cheek. "That's probably why you still don't feel comfortable in here."

Ethan stared at him, feeling uneasy. "What I did... Rupert, if we have sex in here I'm going to want you to hurt me, and that's hardly the kind of energies we want to leave in this room."

Rupert shook his head. "That's not cleansing the memory; that's adding another bad memory to it."

"It's what I des–" Ethan stopped himself saying anymore. He twisted on the bed to get closer to Rupert, to hug him properly.

Rupert's arms came around him in turn, pulling him closer. "Seduce me with your magic," he murmured, mouth right up against Ethan's ear. "Like you did that night. Only cleanly, purely, with my full knowledge and consent."

Ethan felt himself tense; he couldn't help it, and the worst thing was, _all_ of him was stiffening. He'd always loved to seduce his Ripper, to turn Ripper on so much that he was prepared to do pretty much anything, anywhere. Ethan got a huge and undeniable thrill from doing that, but what Rupert was asking. He moaned softly and buried his face against Rupert's shoulder.

"My magic called to you," Rupert murmured, still talking right into Ethan's ear. "Make your magic call to me; make me give myself to you."

This time the moan was more a groan as Ethan felt his cock press hard against his trousers. Rupert's words spoke straight to the core of him. Almost despite himself, Ethan could feel his magic gathering at his fingertips, ready to paint across Rupert's body. "Promise me this is the right thing to do," he asked, demanded really.

Rupert pulled back far enough to meet his eyes. "I wouldn't ask it of you if it wasn't."

Which was true enough. After a brief pause to gather his strength, Ethan separated himself from Rupert. "You should start outside the door then."

"You're not going to scold me about my leg?" Rupert teased.

Ethan pursed his lips. "No, but I might spank you. Do as you're told for once."

Chuckling, Rupert got to his feet and limped out into the hallway.

Ethan took a few moments just to watch Rupert, look at him with all his senses. "You've always been so beautiful, Ripper," he said as he stood up. "So perfect and pure. Like sunlight. I've always thought that." He stalked a few steps towards the door, chuckling as a whimsical thought hit him. "Do you think that's why we love the dawns and dusks so much? Perhaps I'm the night to your day, so sunrises and sunsets when the two times mix are... are like sex." He smirked through the open doorway.

"So you're the night?" Rupert asked, visibly amused. "Dark, mysterious, with a hint of danger always present?"

"You really don't take me seriously enough these days," Ethan complained, still smirking up at Rupert from under his brow. With a quick mental twist of certain patterns within Rupert, Ethan set about remedying that.

Rupert inhaled sharply, reaching out a hand against the wall to help balance himself.

Grinning, Ethan prowled the few steps further needed to take him into the doorway. He didn't touch Rupert, just looked at him while licking his own lower lip.

He was letting his awareness of Rupert grow large, meaning he barely saw the room and possibly wouldn't have heard a telephone ringing nearby. All Ethan was paying attention to was Rupert: his expression, his body, his magic, the intricate patterns of him across time and space, especially those of his arousal. Ethan played his magic through those patterns again, teasing and tugging as he would at Rupert's nipples.

He could hear Rupert's breathing speeding up. "Ethan..."

"Yes?" Ethan replied, as if he had no idea what Rupert could possibly want.

"You keep that up and I'm going to lose my balance." Rupert's hand went flat against the wall, more of his weight being put there.

"Poor dear," Ethan said, his tone oozing false sympathy and humour. "Perhaps you better lie down." He lifted his hand, letting his magic-soaked fingertips run over Rupert's lips.

Rupert's eyes fluttered shut, and his tongue darted out to lick at Ethan's fingers. "Lying down would be... prudent," he agreed.

Ethan didn't oblige him immediately; instead he surged closer, pressing Rupert into the wall and moving hard against him. "Kiss me," he instructed, his gaze daring Rupert to disobey.

Rupert's lips curved upward, and he leant in to press them to Ethan's.

Ethan was aware he was getting somewhat carried away with the power he was wielding over Rupert, but he wasn't ready to stop. He slipped a hand around to cup Rupert's neck and kissed him strongly, letting his lips push his magic into Rupert, inviting its equal and opposite to come out to play.

A low rumble of a moan sounded in Rupert's chest as his magic leapt to meet Ethan's, and he slid his arms around Ethan's waist. Rupert's magic tasted so sweet. Ethan groaned in turn and ground their erections together. He ran his free hand down the available length of Rupert's body, letting his magic trail along behind his fingers. And again, he twisted.

He felt the surge go through Rupert's body and swallowed the involuntary cry Rupert made.

"Ready to give yourself to me?" Ethan asked huskily after breaking the kiss, not really thinking about what he was asking, just repeating Rupert's earlier words back to him. Rupert replied by pulling Ethan roughly to him and devouring his mouth, which Ethan thought meant no.

He carefully separated himself from his wilful husband, backing up until he hit the banisters. With a smug half-smile, he curled his power around Rupert, twisting at patterns, tugging at them, making Rupert's skin alive to the smallest sensation, making his cock cry out for attention, making him ache for Ethan. "Ready to give yourself to me?" he asked again.

"Ethan," Rupert gasped, his body shaking in reaction, stumbling back against the wall in an obvious effort to stay upright.

"Answer me."

"Yes." The word seemed ripped from somewhere deep inside him.

Ethan immediately released Rupert from his power, moving forward, looping an arm around his waist. "Good. Well done." He encouraged Rupert to walk, taking much of his weight. Ethan didn't allow himself to worry about Rupert's leg, about what they were reliving here, none of it. Because if he was to do this well, he couldn't afford to think of anything beyond the moment, beyond the power he was wielding over Rupert and the thrill that provided both of them.

Rupert leant heavily on him as they moved into the room, whether because of his leg or from what Ethan had been doing to him, Ethan couldn't tell. When they got to the bed, Ethan simply pushed at Rupert's chest so that he toppled onto the mattress and then followed him down. They wiggled further on, Ethan on his hands and knees astride Rupert, gazing down at him.

Closing his eyes briefly, Ethan unravelled the seams of all their garments so that they simply fell from them in large pieces of material. He grinned wolfishly down at Rupert. "All mine, you are."

"Yours," Rupert agreed, reaching a hand up to caress Ethan's cheek.

Ethan stared down for another few seconds and then descended, swooping down like a raptor from the sky and claiming Rupert's mouth in a fierce, burning kiss, rich with magic.

Rupert surged up to meet him, his magic flowing to joyfully meet and mix with Ethan's. And Ethan lowered himself down, moving one leg between Rupert's and squirmed over him, setting both their skins alight with sensation as their magics merged.

Moaning, Rupert writhed under him, tilting his head back in a mute offering of himself.

"Ripper..." Licking at Rupert's neck, Ethan found he didn't know what came next. Or rather he did, as it was rather obvious, but he didn't think he could provide. Not after the last time in this room, the only time he'd ever penetrated Rupert. Oh bugger. He couldn't afford to hesitate like this. He moaned, "_Ripper_."

"Love you," Rupert said, then gently forced Ethan's head up enough to meet his gaze. "Yours," he repeated softly.

Rupert wanted this. This wasn't just the cleansing of memories; Ethan had known for a while that Rupert wanted, at least once, to have Ethan inside him again. He could do it, couldn't he? Could it really be that difficult? Moaning, he moved his other leg between Rupert's thighs and tormented both of them by grinding their erections together as he tried to build up courage.

Rupert was giving himself up to Ethan's touch, moving with him, into his caresses. His hands slid down over Ethan's back as they moved, giving comfort and reassurance even as he gave himself over.

Ethan moaned again. "I... can't."

Rupert's hands didn't still in their soft movements over Ethan's body. "Why?" Rupert asked gently, calmly.

"I don't know," Ethan admitted. Somehow he was positioned lower down Rupert's body now; he wasn't sure how that had happened. His cock was pushing towards areas it shouldn't be. He tried to stop himself moving, but wasn't completely successful. "Oh Christ. Rupert. I..." His memories of being inside Rupert that one time before were filling him. For all his horror after the event, at the time it had felt... divine and deliciously profane all at once.

"It's all right," Rupert told him, still running his fingers lightly over Ethan's skin. "I'm yours and you're mine. Nothing's going to change that."

Ethan closed his eyes, allowing himself to get lost for a few moments in the sensations of his body. "Ask me for it?" he said, and he could hear his tone was pleading. "Let me hear how much you want this?" As he spoke, he moved his hand between them, letting it cup Rupert's cock. Twisting the patterns again so that Rupert would feel every touch almost unbearably acutely, Ethan then squeezed.

"God!" Rupert arched off the mattress, his body shuddering in reaction. "God, Ethan, you're driving me insane..."

He laughed a little breathlessly. "Well, that's good, isn't it? Ask me?" He ran his tongue, trailing magic, up to and over one of Rupert's nipples. "Please?"

"Please," Rupert echoed, shaking under Ethan's attention. "Please... Ethan..."

"God." Hearing Rupert beg was like fire in Ethan's balls. He moaned and thrust himself forward, his cock pushing between Rupert's buttocks like it knew just where to go without any guidance. Ethan shuddered. He moved his hands down to between Rupert's legs, parting them more widely, and pressed magic-charged fingers on the tight ring of muscle there. "You want me inside you," he stated.

Rupert gasped. "Please."

Ethan pressed his fingers within, using his magic as lubrication the way Rupert had so often done with him. Rupert seemed very warm inside and so very tight. Ethan squirmed his fingers about and moaned because his fingers were not what he needed to be surrounded by this encasing warmth. "Is this what you want?" he asked shakily.

"Ethan, would you just bloody get on with it?" Rupert growled, his body moving into Ethan's touch.

That was Ripper's voice, but the old Ripper would never have asked for this... would he? One thing was certain, Ripper would never have put up with such insubordination from the bloke underneath him. Finding the swelling that marked Rupert's prostate, Ethan smirked up at Rupert as he filled the area with his magic. "You really are rather naff at being the bottom, aren't you, dear?" he asked.

Rupert's only answer was a ragged shout as he bucked in reaction to what Ethan was doing.

Ethan heard a noise come from his own mouth that was somewhere between a giggle and a groan. Rupert's reactions were quite wonderful and going straight to Ethan's head... or rather to other far more needy parts of him.

He withdrew his fingers and shut his fears tightly away, lining up his cock with the waiting hole, trembling with the need to just plunge it inside. Letting his magic coat his length, he wondered vaguely if he dared beg Rupert to ask for this once again. He wasn't just playing dominance games; he needed to know it was all right. He lifted his eyes to search out Rupert's, but couldn't find the words...

Meeting Ethan's gaze, Rupert once again lifted a hand to caress his cheek. "Yes," he said clearly.

"Oh," Ethan groaned, and shuddering, he pushed himself inside as far as he could go.

It was unbelievably warm and tight, not like any hand he'd ever had around him, and Rupert's magic was everywhere, mixing with his own. But it wasn't just the simple physical sensations that were immediately threatening to overwhelm Ethan, it was the fact that he was inside Rupert, inside his husband. He was fucking his husband. He was lying on top of Rupert with his cock buried inside Rupert's arse and... oh bloody hell.

Ethan groaned again and tried to stay absolutely still.

Rupert seemed to be caught up in the same overwhelming feelings; white knuckling the sheets and trying to stay just as still as Ethan, although tremors went through his muscles with the effort.

It was clear this wasn't going to last long, which probably made the idea that suddenly came to Ethan rather stupid, but nonetheless he liked it. Remaining still, and trying to make himself breathe more calmly, he shut his eyes and extended his pattern awareness not in space but in detail. He found and highlighted the shape of Rupert's sexual arousal and matched it node for node with his own, connecting them both in a way he'd never considered before. Everything that he felt, Rupert should now feel too, and vice versa.

Unsure if it would work, Ethan knew there was only one way to find out. He pistoned his hips out and back in just once.

The cry that came from Rupert was echoed by the one that fell from his own lips. Oh yes, it was definitely working.

Keeping his eyes tight shut, Ethan continued to move because now he couldn't stop. Everything he did to Rupert, he was also doing to himself and the sensations were staggering. "Ripper," he moaned. "My Ripper. Oh God..."

"Don't stop," Ripper all but yelled, moving with him, his hands coming up to grip Ethan's shoulders. "Whatever you do..."

"Couldn't..." Ethan staggered out between panting and whimpers, "even if I... was insane enough to... Oh Christ!... want to."

He was thrusting hard and fast and with little in the way of rhythm, all his natural grace gone to pot as he was taken over by the raw urgent demand of his body to reach orgasm. And just the thought that he was going to come inside Rupert made his groin muscles tighten further and dragged a ragged wail from his throat.

Rupert moaned in return, his hands tightening to bruising force on Ethan's shoulders. "I'm going to–"

"Come," Ethan completed in a gasp, as he felt his body tense and the shock-burn of orgasm surge through his loins. He felt Rupert's muscles contract around his cock and simultaneously contracted his own muscles around the ghost shaft in his own arse, and that was about the point that his intellect stopped functioning altogether.

He was simply a pulsing, twitching body with no thoughts, just sensations, ever amplifying as they ricocheted between the two of them. Everything that Rupert felt, was felt then by Ethan and reflected back to Rupert, like two mirrors endlessly reflecting.

Human bodies were not really built for such things, and eventually, Ethan succumbed to the effects of barely breathing and over-stimulation and fell into a warm velvety blackness that held and soothed him.

When reality eventually came back, Ethan found himself still held; Rupert's arms wrapped tightly around him.

He stirred cautiously, but his temporary pattern connections had apparently separated while his consciousness had been elsewhere. Moving did not cause another rising crescendo of incredible sensation. On the other hand... "Ow."

"Welcome back." Rupert's voice was rough and hoarse as if from overuse.

"Bugger," Ethan moaned against Rupert's shoulder. His muscles hurt like hell. "Are you... all right?"

"I think the top of my head may have blown off, but other than that, I'm bloody marvellous."

Ethan raised his head to look at Rupert and couldn't help but smile. "I always have to raise the ante," he said ruefully, but his smile became a grin. "That _was_ pretty damn marvellous, wasn't it?"

Rupert gave him a rueful but affectionate smile in return. "There are cleansings, and then there are cleansings."

Ethan nodded, moving up to kiss Rupert, but when he drew back again, he said, "Yes, and I think this one is going to involve buying Megan a new mattress."

Rupert threw his head back and laughed.

***

"Perhaps I should start working out with the Slayers," Ethan said thoughtfully.

Giles looked up from the files he was reviewing in preparation for his upcoming appointment, just to make sure that everything was in order. "Having a sudden yearning for bruises?"

"Already have them, dearheart," Ethan replied drily from his window-ledge perch, a favourite spot of his when in Giles' office. He rubbed at his shoulders in way of obvious illustration of his point.

The memories of their 'cleansing' earlier were still very much fresh in Giles' mind, and he shot his lover a wolfish smile. "Yes, I'm rather thankful this chair is well-cushioned at the moment myself."

He saw a moment's insecurity flicker across Ethan's face, but then Ethan smiled, almost shyly. It was a strangely open expression for him; one Giles had rarely seen before. Ethan turned and looked out the window. "I feel all shiny and new." He chuckled self-mockingly.

"Thanks," Giles said softly, realising he hadn't said it yet.

Ethan turned back to him, frowning slightly. "What for?"

"For... blowing the top of my head off." Giles smiled at Ethan, and he could swear he could still feel his nerves vibrate with leftover pleasure.

"Isn't that one of my duties?" Ethan's eyes twinkled.

"I can write it into your employment contract if you like."

Ethan sniggered. "That sounds like something that should come with a 'raise'. Will I get a new job title?"

Giles lifted an eyebrow. "Did you have something in mind?"

Ethan put a finger to his mouth and raised his eyes in a pose of thought. "Hmm. Chief Degenerate Homosexual to the Council Head, maybe?" He laughed. "Megan is going to have to be very patient with us, you know."

"Considering what I've had to put up with from Slayers and their friends in the past, I'm looking at it as turnabout is fair play." Giles leant back in his chair and blatantly let his eyes rove over Ethan's form just because he could.

Ethan slipped from the window and prowled over. After bending to kiss Giles, he perched on the small area of desk edge not covered by papers. "All this time, and this desk of yours remains unchristened," he commented, running his hand along the wood thoughtfully.

"Are you offering to help rectify that situation?" Giles asked, sliding a hand along Ethan's thigh. Not that they had time for anything right then, but that didn't mean they couldn't... discuss the situation.

"It's a handsome desk," Ethan said, his eyes dark and seductive. "I think it deserves better treatment than it's been getting. I mean, not even furniture wants just work, work, work all the time..."

Giles again ran his gaze over Ethan's body. "It could possibly use some new... decoration." His hand slid further up Ethan's thigh.

Ethan's eyes blinked slowly like a cat's. "I'm game."

"Aren't you always?"

"Well, yes." Ethan grinned. "So the question is, are you?" Giles reached up and latched onto Ethan's shirt, pulling him down for a kiss.

The intercom buzzed.

Sighing, Giles gave Ethan an apologetic look and then hit the button. "Yes, Pamela?"

"Your three o-clock is here," Pamela said in frosty tones that were clearly not meant for Giles. Ethan screwed up his face, and after clasping Giles' shoulder briefly, went back to the windowsill.

"Thank you, Pamela. You can send her in – in a couple of minutes." Giles turned the intercom off and turned to Ethan. "Let her sweat that much longer. Are you ready for this?"

"I think so. She... what she did nearly destroyed us, together with effects of the Chaos. But I'm satisfied to let you get our vindication here. I'll be quiet." He chuckled softly and added, "–ish."

"Quietish will be good enough. We've still a minute if you want to sneak in that one kiss..."

Ethan didn't seem to need any more encouragement. He came straight back and leant over with his hands on the arms of Giles' executive chair. Giles reached up and slid a hand to the nape of Ethan's neck, pulling him down the remaining distance to his lips.

The kiss was hard and deep, made all the more so by the awareness of the short time they had. Ethan half-fell, half-arranged himself onto Giles' lap, their mouths not parting in the process. His lips were open to Giles' tongue, his hands exploring Giles' chest.

As always, Ethan's enthusiasm threatened to carry Giles away with it; he upped the intensity of the kiss even more, his free hand dropping into Ethan's lap. Ethan groaned quietly and squirmed. It was always so very easy to get lost in Ethan; Giles' senses focused in on his lover, warm and so very 'right' in his arms, and so it came as a nasty shock when a harsh female voice filled the room.

"Oh really. This is too much."

Giles deliberately let the kiss linger for a few seconds longer before reluctantly pulling back. "Hello, Francesca."

She was glaring at him over the desk, her expression one of angry revulsion. "Are not your crimes against me sufficient that you have to also subject me to this repulsive display of... " She seemed at a loss for words.

"Degeneracy?" Ethan suggested sweetly, making no move to get up. "Debauchery? Unnatural and obscene behaviour?"

"If you won't wait until you're shown in, I'm not going to apologise for what you're interrupting," Giles told her bluntly.

"I am here at the appointed time," Francesca said, cold fury frosting every word. "You are merely sadistically rubbing my nose in it."

"Odd, that," Ethan said, drawing himself languorously to his feet and stretching. "I can't imagine why we'd want to be cruel to you."

"Mr Rayne." Francesca drew herself up, showing her full catwalk model height. "I do not have to converse with you, and I have no idea why you feel you have a right to be present at this meeting."

"Because I asked him to be," Giles said sharply. Even with what this meeting was for, the woman could get under his skin faster than anyone since, well, her father.

Ethan smirked at Francesca and made a little flourishing bow before heading back to the windowsill, pausing on the way to kiss Giles' forehead. Francesca didn't move, but continued to stare furiously across the desk.

Regaining his own composure, Giles leaned forward and slid a folder across his desk until it was in front of Francesca. "Just so we're clear what we're talking about."

Looking very much like she didn't want to, Francesca flicked the cover of the folder opened and looked down at the first page. "I know what you _stole_," she said icily.

"Considering what's in those papers, a certain cliché about pots and kettles comes to mind," Giles pointed out.

"Can we stop dancing about and get to the point, Rupert?" she demanded. "What is it you want?"

"Ah, but I get to dance so rarely these days." Giles shot a complicit glance over to Ethan's direction, knowing the vague reference to the blackmail material that Francesca had had and lost would annoy her all the more. "But fine. We will cut to the heart of the matter. I want you gone."

Her face twitched. "Gone?"

A soft and rather evil chuckle came from Ethan's direction; there was still something of sadist in his lover, it seemed.

"Gone," Giles confirmed, savouring the look on Francesca's face. "Out of the country would be nice, preferably at least out of the city." He let his expression and voice grow cold. "But definitely off my Council and away from the Slayers."

"No." The word seemed more a denial that she'd even heard his words than a simple refusal.

Giles merely leant back in his chair and looked at her.

She met his gaze. "You can't sack me. I may not have the evidence of your... sickness any longer, but there are laws in this country to stop people like _him_" –she waved dismissively in the direction of Ethan– "ever getting near children, and much though I'd rather not sully the Council's good name, I'll do that before I let it fall so completely into your hands."

Giles heard Ethan stand up behind him. "Ms Travers, Frannie," Ethan started, his voice using a deliberately despicable tone that Giles hadn't heard in years. He stalked across the room towards her. "If you are implying what I believe you may be implying, you better be prepared to discover just how moral-free I can be. And yes, that is a threat." His smile was predator-sharp.

"You seemed to have missed the part where you have no power whatsoever, Francesca," Giles broke in. "You will either tender your resignation, or I will, as you so aptly put it, sack you, and the entire Council and beyond will know the reasons why. The Travers' name will be tarnished badly, quite possibly beyond repair. As for any threats you feel the need to make against Ethan, you'll find that all you have to use to do so is your own word. Which won't be worth much if the proof of your lies, deceit and fraud is laid out for the world to see."

Her face was so taut that it looked as if something might snap. She looked down at the file, up again at Giles, then back down at the file. "I suppose you have it ready for me to sign," she said finally, her posture one of barely repressed fury and not defeat at all.

Wordlessly, Giles slid the document across the desk.

She pulled it to her, and with a shaking hand, signed her name at the bottom of the resignation. Throwing the pen down, she glared between Giles and Ethan. "You won't get away with this. I'm not the only Council loyalist; I was merely their spokesman. The Council will not remain in your debased hands for long."

"Really, Frannie," Ethan giggled. "Do you look all these words up in Roget's before seeing us? I believe you haven't used either 'perverted' or 'dissolute' so far today, so you may want to get them in quick before you leave this place and give us the profound pleasure of never clapping eyes on you again."

Giles collected the letter back and returned it to the folder. "Since I do believe that's all the business we have," he began in his most professional tones. Then he let his voice show some of his real feelings for the woman standing in front of him. "I'd appreciate it if you would get the hell out of my sight. You have to the end of the day to clean out your office."

Giles couldn't imagine an expression more loaded with furious hate than the one that was directed at him now. Francesca turned to go, but then paused. "And my dog?"

"If you deliver the dog's papers, I'll be more than happy to pay for him," Giles told her. "But Gwydion stays with me."

She didn't answer, merely turned to Ethan and spat, "Abomination!" causing him to laugh in her face, and then she strode from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Ethan grinned gleefully at Giles. "Bracing, that."

"I enjoyed it far more than I probably should have," Giles admitted ruefully, sitting back in his chair and smiling at his... abomination.

"I think we're allowed a smidgen of gloat here, dearheart." Ethan moved around to Giles, dragging his fingers along the desk. "I suppose we haven't time for some celebratory shagging, have we? What with mattresses to buy and goodbye meals for Kat to organise?"

"No time, I fear, for seeing it done all right and proper," Giles said with real regret.

Nonetheless, Ethan approached Giles and dropped to his knees before him. "Well, maybe not the desk today then, but there must be time for something more... direct." He put his hands on Giles' knees and licked his lips.

Giles closed his eyes as Ethan reached for the zipper on his trousers and undid it. "I...suppose we can spare a few minutes," he admitted.


	15. Epilogue

"Xander, you should have seen her. I don't have words enough to describe her face."

Ethan and Xander were leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen drinking beer, watching the other four play Uno. Ethan had taken it upon himself to introduce Xander to the concept of real ale, and Xander, surprisingly perhaps, was taking to it like a fish to, well, strongly flavoured, alcoholic, room temperature water.

"You should've taken a camera," Xander suggested, gesturing with his mug. "Waited until she was at her most appalled and – Snap!"

"Ah, but it would have lost the important nuances, I think. That moment when denial that this could possibly be happening met headlong with the realisation that, yes, it really was. Quite delicious." Ethan offered his beer mug at Xander in a toast. "Here's to the fall of would-be tyrants."

"Burglary in the service of the Good," Xander counter-toasted.

They shared a grin.

"Now you will make sure Kat has everything she needs before you leave her with those Devonshire heathens, won't you?" Ethan asked. Xander was due to drive Kat to Devon early the next morning.

"No, I was just planning on slowing down the car enough for her to jump out. Relax, Ethan. I'll make sure she's taken care of."

Ethan pursed his lips. "And no taking advantage of the girl while you have her alone for such a long journey."

Xander bristled at that. "I'm not in the habit of taking advantage of minors."

"She's old enough to get married," Ethan pointed out. "And I'm sure the 'Watcher who sees' has noticed all the flirting that's directed at him."

"She's underage still," Xander said again, crossing his arms over his chest as best he could when holding onto his mug of beer. "It wouldn't be right."

"Underage for what?" Ethan asked, totally changing his argument from where it had started. The truth was he'd only hoped to tease Xander into admitting that he liked Kat as Ethan certainly had no objection to the pairing. "In this country, the only thing she's too young for is being served alcohol in a pub. Even the buggery of sweet young boys is legal at sixteen here, you know."

"I knew gay sex was going to enter this conversation at some point." Xander was looking a little wild around the eye, and Ethan didn't think it was the buggery comment that had provoked it.

He looked at the man carefully, a slight smile on his lips. "Xander?" he asked.

"Yes?" Xander replied a bit suspiciously.

"If you do decide to... get closer to Kat, you do know you are pre-approved, don't you? It's like a credit card, you see. Your accounts are solid with us. Rupert and I would be delighted, and as far as I'm concerned you'd be much better for her than one of Lucy's priggish nephews. How Kat feels, of course, is up to her. "

Xander stared at him.

"_If_ you decide to," Ethan reiterated, trying to work out what was going on behind the single brown eye.

"You really would be okay with it?"

"Why wouldn't we be?" Ethan was genuinely surprised by the lad's reaction. "Rupert thinks the world of you, and I... Well, we've come to a good understanding, you and me, haven't we?" He would have put it more strongly than that, but didn't want to alarm Xander. "You're responsible, kind and caring, and completely aware of what a Slayer's life involves, and she clearly likes you a great deal. What, dear boy, is there to object to?" It came to something when he was listing 'responsible' as a desirable trait.

"I left my last girlfriend at the altar." Xander's voice was dull and flat.

"Well, I think maybe just taking Kat out for dinner might be more appropriate for a first date, don't you?" Ethan grinned. He didn't really know what to make of Xander's confession. Rupert had told him something about Anya, whom he assumed Xander was referring to, but not the details of what had gone wrong. "Weren't you a little young for marriage anyway?"

Xander shrugged a little, his free hand going into his jeans pocket as he slouched against the doorway. "Should've figured that out before the 'humiliating Anya in front of all our friends and family' thing."

"Probably," Ethan acknowledged easily. "I can't imagine you'll make the same mistake again. Xander, do remember who I am when you lay your crimes before me. If you can forgive me my far greater ones and accept me for who I am _now_, don't you think I can do the same for you?"

"Yeah, but you're not doing it for you. You're doing it for Kat."

"I trust you," Ethan said simply, hoping that, if nothing else, would get through to him.

It seemed like it did because Xander grinned. "Well, if you say so..."

A roar of laughter came from the gamers, accompanied by puppy yapping, and Ethan smiled. "And if you were to be visiting her often in Devon," he continued casually, "perhaps even bringing her back here for weekends, all the better."

"See, I knew there was an ulterior motive," Xander kidded him.

"Oh, there usually is," Ethan assured him and grinned. On a whim, he decided to ask about something he'd been thinking about for a few days now. "Have you seen Dawn Summers recently?"

"I stopped by to visit her and Buffy a few weeks before I came over here." Xander gave him a curious look. "Why?"

Ethan finished his beer before replying. "Rupert told me the other day that my memories of her were imposed. Speaking as someone who, pre-reformation of course, enjoyed playing with perceived reality, I was rather impressed by this. Although I imagine that for her it must be not so impressive."

That earned him a hard stare. "It doesn't matter how she got here, Dawn's Dawn. We all accept that and what we remember."

Ethan smiled gently. "Your defence of her speaks well of you. Really, it does. But for all that neither of us are 'traditional' Watchers, I don't believe we can say that the Key's origins and purpose don't matter."

"They did, but they don't now. It was a timelock that she, errr... fitted into. The time's past. So she's just a normal girl now." The hard stare continued. "You'll find any of the Scoobies, including Giles, pretty adamant on that point."

Ethan gave Xander a doubtful look; he didn't really want to argue with the lad, but this seemed like deliberate ignorance. "You have proof of this? That her... mystical purpose has exhausted itself, and she can't be used again either by another Glory or accidentally?"

"We researched it pretty thoroughly, and desperately, at the time. Our whole strategy was based on the fact that if Glory missed her window, she was out of luck."

"That seems unlikely, don't you think? I mean, if I understand correctly what the Key is, it... _her_ existence is hardly something so momentary."

Xander shrugged. "I think what we're talking about is lengths of time so great that it isn't going to make any difference to Dawn's life."

"Yes, you're probably right.," Ethan acknowledged, wondering if the girl would revert to the mystical object when her human life span was up. He thought better of discussing that with Xander however. "Still, she should be protected, if only from occult collectors."

"Well, the fact that, aside from Dawn herself, nobody living outside of Buffy, Willow, Giles and me –and you now too, I guess– knows about it cuts down on the collector types."

"These things get out, although not from me if you are worried about that, and they can be divined magically. She's unique, but if she's with Buffy, she's protected, I'm sure." Ethan moved into the kitchen for more beer and continued to talk to Xander from inside. "Dawn the human girl aside, I do find the existence of the Key somewhat fascinating from a theoretical viewpoint. It ties into Chaos lore, you see."

Xander shifted uneasily. "It's hard for me to discuss Dawn as anything but Dawn."

"Shall we change the subject then?" Ethan offered; after all, he was sure Rupert would let him expound about this later.

But Xander remained uncomfortable and serious. "One of the reasons we've kept this whole Key business so close to the vest is because we don't want people looking at Dawn as a thing. She's Dawn, the human girl, and there's no putting that aside."

Ethan looked at Xander carefully. "Have I given you the impression that I consider her somehow less than human?" On the contrary, he considered the child to be considerably more than.

"I don't think you'd do so on purpose," Xander replied. "But it's easy to get caught up in all that theory and magic and forget that you're not talking about a mystical object, but a teenage girl."

"She's both," Ethan insisted seriously. "That teenage girl is also a mystical object which could destroy not just this universe, but the entire omniverse. If I am correct about her origins anyway."

"My best friend has enough power to destroy the world if she wanted to, and I bet you and Giles could do some damage if you put your minds to it too." Xander shrugged. "Dawn being Dawn is still the most important thing."

Ethan thought about that, then nodded. "Yes, you're right. We are defined more by those who care for us than by anything else."

"Dawn's... Imagine being fifteen and finding out that your entire existence was a lie, that you didn't really exist, not like everyone else around you. That's what Dawn had to go through. She adapted and adjusted, but it wasn't easy, and it pretty much took away most of her innocence." Xander met Ethan's gaze. "So all of us Scoobies are kinda protective of her existence and reality. She's been through enough of that kind of doubt."

"I understand, Xander. Truly. But I insist you, and indeed she, should never forget what she _also_ is or it will be employed against her. There are always enemies out there ready to use the things we try to hide about ourselves. Always." And once it would have been him.

"There's a difference between her knowing what she is and feeling like she's walking around with the words 'not really human' stamped on her forehead."

Frowning now, Ethan folded his arms. "I really don't think I'm the person that this lecture was designed for, Xander. "

"Maybe not," Xander acknowledged with a shrug and a nod. "You're the first one who's been let in on the secret since the rest of us were, but it wouldn't matter who you were, I'd still be giving this lecture. Consider this the over-protectiveness of a big brother type. "

"And after the lecture I was considerate enough not to give you about Kat. Well, that's shown me, hasn't it?" Ethan's pout was at least half ironic smile.

"So maybe you're more easygoing than I am," Xander said, the faint traces of a smile on his face. "And isn't that a scary thought?"

"More beer?" Ethan proffered a bottle of Ridleys, grinning now.

"Trying to get me drunk?" Xander teased as he held out his mug.

"And why would I want to do that, Xander?" Ethan asked drily as he filled the beer mug.

"I don't think I want to think about that too closely."

"You know what they say. If you're afraid of something, the best thing is to make yourself just do it and then you'll never be so afraid of it again." Ethan clanked mugs with Xander and then headed into the living room and the arm of Rupert's chair.

***

It was getting late, and really it was time for those intending to leave the party to do so. Giles stood up, intending to put the kettle on, but then realised Kat was still out in the back playing with Gwydion. It didn't seem quite right that she was missing out on the end of her own going-away party.

Giles smiled reassuringly at Ethan, who had looked up from the involved discussion about, of all things, international cuisine, then slipped through the dining room-cum-study and out the back door, grabbing his jacket from the office chair on the way through.

Kat was in the middle of their tiny patch of garden involved in a tug o'war over something with the young wolfhound. "Give it back, Giddy," Giles heard her say, "or I'll use Slayer-strength on your scrawny ass."

Gwydion didn't seem to be the least bit phased by this threat, growling playfully as he tugged harder on what Giles was able to identify when he got closer as a leather garment of some kind.

"Gwydion, let go," he ordered sternly.

The puppy, of course, immediately did so, and Kat tripped backwards, ending up sitting on the grass. She scowled at Gwydion. "Well, you're one thing I'm so not gonna miss." She stood back up and started brushing her jacket down with her hand. "Thanks, Giles."

"I fear he's got rather a fixation with leather," Giles said, limping up to them. "Sit," he told Gwydion when the puppy began prancing around him and threatening to knock him down.

Gwydion did so, but Kat frowned at Giles. "Ethan will kill me if he catches you standing up out here. Sit down on the bench?"

Not missing the irony of being told to sit immediately following doing the same to his dog, Giles limped obediently over to the bench. "Ethan has you well trained."

"Well, he is one of my Watchers so that's his job, isn't it?" Kat followed Giles and sat down on the wooden bench beside him, examining the leather jacket under the porch light. "I'm gonna miss you guys so much," she said quietly.

"We're going to miss you as well," Giles replied just as quietly, reaching down to scratch Gwydion's ears. "But we're only a phone call away."

"Ethan gave me a phone card that means I can call you for free from any landline... something like that anyway. So expect to get fed up with the sound of my voice." After putting her jacket back on, she sat back and pushed her fringe from her eyes. "Thanks for this, Giles. I know I keep saying it, but... thank you."

That made all the frustration and bureaucratic bullying he'd done worth it. "You're welcome," he said, allowing himself a faint smile. "I know you're going to do us proud."

Kat was silent for a while, and when Giles glanced at her, she was staring up at the stars. It was a clear night, and there was bound to be a frost by the morning. She asked, "Will you and Ethan be safe enough with just Megan to do the bodyguard thing?"

"We'll be fine," Giles assured her, trying to head off any offers of staying to act as said bodyguard. "We're not without our own defences, you realise."

"Yes, but a two-pronged defence, magic _and_ muscle, is always best. " Kat had clearly paid attention in some of her lessons at least

Giles smiled. "We'll manage. I daresay I still have the capability to thrash one or two more villains before I am declared completely decrepit."

Kat's doubtful look wasn't exactly complimentary.

"I have been doing this sort of thing for a very long time now," Giles reminded her.

She shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, but you're, y'know... now."

"I'm...?"

"Old? Er." Kat gave him an uncertain glance. "Old-er. You're older now."

This was the down side of working with people so much younger than himself. "I'm not quite ready for shipping off to the nursing home. I've at least a few more good weeks in me."

"Years," she corrected, thumping him in the leg in a way presumably meant to be playful, but which hurt. Quite a lot. The joy of working with Slayers. "Years and years. Many, many years. Tens and more tens of years."

Giles blinked at her. "I do believe you may have been hanging around Xander a bit too much."

She grinned at him. "No such thing as too much Xander."

"Do I detect a hint of interest there?" Not that he hadn't already noticed Kat's infatuation, but this was as good a chance to gauge its seriousness as any he was likely to get.

"Hint of interest? Nah. Nothing like that." Her eyes twinkled in the porch light. "Great big crush, on the other hand, that would be a yes."

"That serious?" Giles asked, with a little bit of humour in his voice to keep from seeing like he was prying.

Kat suddenly looked worried. "Uh. You won't tell him, will you?"

Giles chuckled. "Can you imagine me having that conversation with Xander?"

"Guess not." She giggled. "He's going to come and see me in Devon."

Then again, maybe he _did_ need to have a discussion with Xander. "Is he?"

"He said he was, just a little while ago back in there. He said Ethan told him he had to. But I'm hoping, you know, that he wants to anyway." She glanced at Giles. "Do you think he might?"

Or perhaps he just had to talk to Ethan. "I'm sure he will," Giles said with a smile.

Kat shivered and pulled her jacket closer around herself. "Is it time to go? Is that why you came looking for me?"

"It's getting late," Giles said softly. "And cold, but you still have a little time."

She stood. "We should go in. Ethan won't be happy if your bad leg gets, you know, frozen or something."

Giles raised his eyebrow. "Frozen? This is autumnal London, not Antarctica." He stood up, leaning just a little on his cane, and called Gwydion to his side. The dog came bounding over.

"I kinda don't want to say goodbye," Kat admitted as they walked slowly toward the back door. "I don't mean that I don't want to go; I do. Just that I don't want to say goodbye. 'Cause that will make it feel like I'm going somewhere really far away and won't see you guys, like, forever."

"Or for a couple of weeks." He paused by the door and glanced up at the stars that Kat had been looking at earlier. "I know any kind of change like this can be scary..."

"It's not the change so much. This is what I want to do. Just... I'll miss you all."

"We'll miss you as well, but we want you to have this chance."

She smiled almost shyly up at him. "Don't go having any adventures without me."

He chuckled and opened the door. "We'll endeavour not to."

Everyone looked up as they entered the living room again; the intense conversation seemed to have died down. Gwydion trotted to Megan to have a fuss made of him, and Kat headed towards where Xander and Pamela were perusing something that looked unpleasantly like some of Giles' old photos.

Ethan came out of the kitchen and slipped a loose arm around him. "You're cold," he said accusingly.

"Not my fault," Kat protested immediately from the arm of Xander's chair.

"I'm fine," Giles protested, leaning slightly and hopefully discretely, on his lover. "Have you been opening the memory vaults?" he asked Ethan, taking care to keep his voice neutral and nodding in the direction of the others and the photos they held.

"No one believed what a gorgeous rocker-boy you used to be," Ethan told him, wrapping his other arm around Giles too, inside his jacket, and tightening the embrace. "I was just trying to prove a point. Do you mind? They've all been quite impressed, dearheart."

"Oh," Pamela said, another photo in her hand. "Oh my."

"Like wow!" Kat announced, stealing the photo for a closer look. "Ethan, is this you? You were like totally hot!"

"Less of the 'were'," Ethan said drily, but Giles could hear uncertainty beneath his humour. Ethan turned to look questioningly at him. "You kept them?" he asked quietly. "I'd no idea. I thought that box was just..."

"Pictures of everyone but you?" Giles teased, but gently, hearing the insecurity in Ethan's voice. "For a long time I couldn't look at or think about even the good times, but I didn't want to forget them entirely."

Ethan gazed at him, his eyes dark but his expression softened. Then something alarming seemed to occur him. "Erm, Rupert. Did you keep _all_ the photos of me?"

Before Giles could reply, there was what could only be described as a strangled gasp from the group looking through the photos.

"All of them," Giles said, rather unnecessarily at that point.

"Bugger." Ethan could move rather fast when he needed to, and he was over by the chair, snatching box and photos, before he'd even finished swearing. "Wipe it from your minds. All of you. Especially _you_." The last was directed at Xander who was looking a little wide-eyed.

"Oh, believe me, wiping is definitely taking place," Xander babbled. "Along with scrubbing and bleaching and possibly whimpering."

Giles could physically see Ethan taking umbrage, the look of embarrassment being overtaken by one of defiance. "As usual, Xander, you're protesting far too much." Ethan waved about the photo they'd been staring at. "This Polaroid shows only–" He stopped, having actually caught sight of the image. "Oh. It's that one." A spontaneous giggle escaped him. "Erm, yes. The application of bleach may be a good idea."

"That was way too much information about your colourful past," Xander said, heartfelt. "And when I say colourful I mean _colourful_."

"Yes, thank you, Xander. I do believe the point has been beaten home quite thoroughly," Giles said as primly as he could manage, trying not to dwell too much on what had just been on display to everyone.

"And speaking of _points_–" Kat piped up with bright eyes.

"Bad girls get packed off to the West Country without any going away presents," Ethan scolded, and before Kat, whose eyes had lit up, could answer, he turned to Pamela. "Will you forgive me, Pammy, for that sorry sight? Try to think of Rupert in the leather jacket; that's a much better image to take away from here."

Pamela was rather pink-faced, but she answered, "Actually, both pictures had a lot of... interesting features."

"Yes, perhaps we can change the subject before I am forced to die from embarrassment?" Giles suggested, feeling surprisingly like he was back in Sunnydale for that moment. Megan, who had for some reason not been looking at the photos, came over and hugged him. She was accompanied by Gwydion, who sat down on Giles' foot.

Ethan was watching him, frowning slightly. "Well, it's been a very long day," he announced. "And much though I'd like this party to go on forever so that I don't have to wave goodbye to Kat, I think I'm approaching the lie down or fall down stage of the evening."

Pamela stood immediately. "Of course. You should have said."

Knowing that Ethan's claim of exhaustion was more likely his estimation of Giles' own condition, Giles considered insisting once again that he was fine, but the truth was that Xander and Kat needed to get on the road very early tomorrow and should have been in their beds already. And if it made Ethan feel better to think his nursemaiding was needed, well, it was a small price to pay to keep him happy.

Giles murmured a quiet, "Off my foot, please," to his dog and then limped over to where Kat and Xander were both standing up.

Kat threw herself into his arms. "Oh, don't let me cry! Megan, come here and pinch me hard if I even so much as look damp around the eyes."

"Will do," Megan said as she crossed the room. "But who's going to pinch me?"

"Come now, girls," Ethan said, putting the memento box down on the stairs. "At the very most, you'll be apart two, three weeks before Kat's back for a visit. There's no need for all this sentimentality."

Kat snorted and let go of Giles to walk over to where Ethan was. "You are so full of it," she accused then hugged him the same way she had Giles.

Hugging her back, Ethan asked, "Now is that the way to talk to your Watcher?" But Giles noticed that Ethan didn't deny the accusation, and his voice sounded a little... tight.

Ethan murmured something in Kat's ear that Giles didn't quite catch, but whatever it was got Ethan hugged harder still. "Human ribs!" he reminded the Slayer urgently, gritting his teeth. She released him in a hurry.

Pamela asked, "Have you got all the paperwork and account information I gave you, Kat? You mustn't forget to give the stuff in the orange folder to Miss Harkness."

Kat nodded towards her bag that was sitting by the door. "I've got everything in there."

"Well, not quite everything," Giles said, judging that as good a lead-in as any to giving her the gift that they had for her. He looked at Ethan expectantly.

Grinning, Ethan went over to the sideboard and opened the sliding door, lifting out the largish box they had concealed inside. "You have to open this after you get to Devon."

Kat made a whining noise, and Ethan chuckled.

"You can read the label if you like," he offered, as he handed it to her.

Kat did so. "Because all work and no play would make Kat a dull girl, and we can't have that. Love Ethan and Giles. Kiss, kiss, kiss." She looked up, her gaze going between them both. "Oh, what is it? You can't make me wait!"

"Xander," Ethan said, "I'm relying on you to see there is no premature present opening. Apart from anything else, it would take all night."

It probably would too. The box contained a great many cosmetics and accessories all chosen by Ethan with Kat's crazy-coloured style in mind, and painstakingly individually wrapped by Giles and Megan a couple of nights ago, all arranged within shredded tissue packaging.

"I'll do my best to keep her distracted," Xander said, deadpan, which, Giles noted with interest, caused Kat to blush.

Feeling mischievous, Giles added, drily, "Not too distracted, I hope." That got him an intense and meaningful stare from Kat, and equally interestingly, a hint of a blush from Xander.

Ethan commented, "Xander's been taking lessons in being distracting from me, so everything should be fine."

Megan giggled. "In that case, the present is far from safe." Ethan mock-glared at her, making her giggle even more.

"Oh, I don't know. I've found Ethan to be very distracting," Giles said with a faint smile. "Although I admit the thought of Xander employing the same methods is rather..."

"Don't worry, I'm right there with you," Xander interrupted a bit too heartily. "No one wants to think of that." Although, by the sudden inquisitive spark in Kat's eyes, there was one person who possibly did.

There was a general moving about then of people collecting their things and moving towards the door. Megan and Kat shared an excessively long hug, which ended in girlish squeals as they pinched each other because both of them were crying.

Pamela gave Kat a much more restrained but unarguably warm hug and then left in her sporty little Renault. Xander waited patiently as Kat hugged Megan, Ethan, and Giles all over again. Finally, Giles and Megan stood out in the road and waved goodbye as Xander drove Kat away, Ethan strangely absent.

Giles limped back into the house, and after seeing Megan off to bed, followed his sense of his lover to the study where he found Ethan sitting at the desk and scribbling. Limping over, Giles rested his hands gently on Ethan's shoulders. "You okay?"

Ethan leant back into the touch. "Just wondering when exactly it was that I swapped cynicism back for sentiment. I'm an old fool. Really."

"No more than I am," Giles said, leaning over to drop a kiss on the top of Ethan's head.

"Megan gone to bed?" Ethan asked, standing up and moving round for a hug.

Giles noticed some familiar words amongst Ethan's scribbles on the jotter. "Yes." He nodded towards the desk. "What are you working on?"

"I'm writing out Keri's prophecy; I felt the need to work on it." Ethan wrapped his arms around Giles, wordlessly encouraging Giles to lean on him. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by how word-perfectly I remember it."

Giles took the silent invitation and shifted so that Ethan was taking some of his weight. "Prophecies are like that. They stick in your mind whether you want them to or not." He smiled and nuzzled Ethan's throat lightly. "Part of the way you can distinguish a real prophecy is that you can't forget about it no matter how hard you try."

Ethan nodded against him, seeming to see the truth in that. "It is all in the forefront of my mind, you see. But I'm tired, and you must be too, surely. Any analysis can wait until the morning. Let's feed the puppy-monster and go to bed."

Giles couldn't argue with that. Besides, curling up in bed with Ethan seemed very appealing. "All right," he said, reluctantly pulling away.

As Ethan walked through the door to the living room, he said, "And as a goodnight story, you can tell me some more about how your office desk needs decorating."

It took Giles a couple of seconds to place the reference; when he did, he smiled and offered, "Perhaps I'll even demonstrate what I had in mind." He shut the door after following Ethan through it.

Behind them both on this, far smaller, desk, Ethan's notes sat, waiting for their time.

_ 1\. The seasons change._  
2\. Even the most deeply hibernating bear eventually awakens.  
3\. The pattern frays and threatens to unravel.  
4\. Nothing will be sought by dark and light.  
5\. Nothing is the key.  
6\. Turn it one way, and the threads will be warped and torn.  
7\. Turn it the other, and the bear will howl its rage in the wilderness.  
8\. You will have to do much more than watch.  
9\. You are the Guardians and the Defenders.  
10\. All is a maze,  
11\. And only those who have touched its substance will be able to find the end.  
12\. The dark is jealous and solitary;  
13\. It does not understand selflessness or love.  
14\. It does not understand the light.  
15\. And that will ultimately be its downfall. 

**Author's Note:**

> So very many thanks go to Wesleysgirl and mpoetess for staunch and reliable betaing.


End file.
